


Saturday's Child

by zabjade



Series: Far to Go [7]
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-22
Updated: 2016-12-07
Packaged: 2018-07-16 13:50:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 47,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7270840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zabjade/pseuds/zabjade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Buffy works hard and plays hard and has been building a real life for herself. Now, she and Spike are off to help with a problem in L.A., and she has to figure just what Angel means to her. Or if he even means anything at all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Joan the vampire slayer clutched her stake tighter and closed her eyes. They weren’t doing her any good in the pitch blackness of the basement, and the strain of instinctively trying to pierce the dark was only distracting her from her prey. She could feel him. The vampire lurking in the darkness. Waiting.

He was an older vampire, not some weak little fledge newly risen from the grave. One mistake, and he’d be on her, transforming her from predator to prey. She kept her breathing slow and even as she moved forward, sliding her feet along the floor, both to avoid tripping and muffle the sound. Not that he didn’t know where she was. She knew he could smell her and could feel her just as easily as she could feel him. But both of those were vague. Sound would pinpoint her exact location.

“What’s this, then? All sneaking about, are we?” His low Cajun accent sent shivers through her entire body. “Never took you for such a capon, cherie.”

She didn’t know what a capon was, but it didn’t exactly sound like a compliment. She wasn’t going to rise to the bait, though. He’d given away his position, but _she_ was going to stay quiet. She rushed towards him, still sliding her feet to muffle the sound. Just as she reached the place where his voice had come from, the vampire laughed and whirled away.

Oh, right. Smooth move _._ Of _course_ he’d known she was going to head for his location after that. Really, though, what else could she have done? Well, it wasn’t over yet, and she still knew where he was. She threw a punch, grinning in satisfaction at the _crunch_ as she got him in the nose. He punched back, getting her in the jaw.

Then the fight was on. They traded blows, the vampire actually making her work for it. She still couldn’t see him in the darkness of the basement, but she could feel him well enough to know exactly where he was, now that they were closer. She could even tell when a missed punch left him vulnerable to a blow right to the midsection. Instead of taking the opening, she dropped down for a leg sweep. He went down, and a quick movement had her straddling his hips with the tip of the stake pressed firmly against his chest.

“Laissez les bon temps rouler, eh bebelle?” he whispered huskily. “Let the good times roll.”

He thrust his hips up against her, and desire suddenly flared through her. Damn sexy vampire. “The only rolling is going to involve your dusty particles rolling into a dustpan.”

“Gonna stake me, then, cher? Sure you’re not the one wanting a bit of a staking?”

“I… I shoul-”

A loud knock at the door interrupted her thoughts. “Buffy,” her mom called. “You have a phone call from someone British. He says it’s important.”

“Bloody hell,” Spike grumbled from underneath her in his normal accent.

Damn it. The baby was asleep and Buffy had finished up all of her classwork (admittedly not a huge feat, since she’d gone for half-time this semester and had managed to get both her courses online) so of _course_ someone from the council called to interrupt sexy fun times. She sighed and stood up to turn on the light.

When she looked back towards Spike, he was already on his feet, readjusting the leather cord around his neck so the small glowing stone was in the front. He had a black eye and a split lip, and Buffy suddenly felt guilty, even though she knew he liked these games just as much she did.

“I didn’t…. I wasn’t too rough with you, was I?” she asked, nervously biting her lower lip.

“Mmm. Just about rough enough, love,” he said, curling his tongue behind his teeth and leering at her.

“Damn it, Spike, I’m serious!” Vague thoughts of bubble wrap and packing peanuts floated through her mind.

“So’m I,” he said with an exasperated huff. “First week’s over, innit? ‘S long as we’re careful, playtime’s safe.” He tilted his head. “Could even go out on patrol with you.”

“Oh no, buster, we are _so_ not having that argument again,” she said, planting her hands on her hips. “Playtime or patrol, not both on the same night.”

“Oh come on, we barely did anything!” Spike protested. “It doesn’t bloody count.”

“Yeah, you wanna try that again when you _don’t_ have a shiner?”

He blinked and started to raise his hand towards his eye before letting it drop. He hadn’t even realized she’d given him a black eye. _Typical Spike,_ she thought fondly. He sighed, clearly knowing he had no chance of winning the argument, and walked towards her to wrap his arms around her. She leaned into it, letting herself bask in his strength for a moment.

“You go ahead and answer your call. I’ll nip on up to check on the sprog.” He pushed her away just enough to give her a kiss, then released her and headed up to the main part of the house.

She followed him up, stopping next to her mom to take the phone while Spike went on to the second floor. She stared blankly at the handset for a moment. Mom had said that the caller was British and male, so her thoughts had automatically gone to the Council. What if it wasn’t, though? After Willow had been taken to England five months ago, she’d tried to call a few times. She’d stopped when she’d finally gotten the hint that just maybe Buffy wasn’t interested in talking to the person who had tried to unmake her child, but what if she’d found some guy to make the call for her? Well, there was no way to know until she actually took the call.

“Hello?” she said cautiously into the receiver.

“Buffy, I must speak with you. Something very peculiar –”

“Wesley?” Why was Wesley of all people calling her? Had something happened to Angel? There was a cold, uncomfortable feeling in the pit of her stomach at the thought. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

“It’s Darla…. You… do you know about Darla?”

“Yeah, back as a human, then turned into a vampire. Drusilla told Spike about it when she came to play Psycho Midwife Barbie. Get to the point already. What’d she do to Angel?”

“Yes, well, she’s come back to L.A. and she’s… well, she’s with child. Angel’s child.”

Buffy pulled the phone away from her ear and stared at it like it was a live cobra. Darla was pregnant with Angel’s kid? What the hell? How was that even…? Part of her was relieved at the thought of Angel finally moving on, but most of her was kind of revolted at the thought of him being with Darla of all people. And how had he gotten her pregnant, anyway? Had they hunted up a Cadbury or whatever idol and done the So’voriku fertility ritual?

No, that probably would have ended with a very dusty Darla. As far as that particular ritual was concerned, vampire “gestation” was one to three days. With two vampires involved, it all would have happened too fast. She’d have been sucked dry within hours, most likely. However it had happened, that was Angel’s business, not hers. She took a deep breath and put the phone against her ear again.

“… you there?”

“Yeah,” her voice sounded rough. She coughed to clear it. “Yeah, I’m here, but, um, I think I missed some of what you said. Okay, so, am I going completely nutso, or did you say Darla’s pregnant?”

 

**…**

 

Spike knew Thursday was awake even before he opened the door to Dawn’s old room. He could hear her moving about. No crying out for snuggles and a feed as of yet, so she must have just woken. Maybe she’d smelled or heard him coming up the stairs, and it had woken her? No way of really knowing. He flipped on the light just as she started growling, revealing the eight-month-old on hands and knees in her crib, chewing on a toy lamb.

She gurgled and squealed at him as he scooped her up, extending his arms to hold her up over his head as he grinned up at her. “How’s daddy’s little predator, then, hmm? Goin’ all ‘grrr, arrgh’ on wee sweet lamby, are we?”

“Beh, beh, baaaah, bububah!” Thursday chattered at him, no doubt carrying on about her fantastic day of sleeping, eating, and crapping herself. And exploring, too, now that she was able to crawl about, grabbing whatever bits and bobs she could get her little hands on and cramming them right into her gob.

He gave her a careful bit of toss and catch before carrying her over to the changing table. It was old hat now, cleaning her all up and trading out the old nappy for a new one, and he could practically do it in his sleep. He could still hear the faint murmur of Buffy’s voice on the phone downstairs, so he tickled Thursday a bit and sang her that silly little piggy song while gently pinching her toes. Not that he couldn’t have gone down and listened in on the conversation, or anything, mind. He just figured he’d give Buffy a bit of privacy to be the Slayer while he took care of the parenting.

“Come on now, sweets,” he murmured once he couldn’t hear Buffy’s voice anymore. “Let’s go down and see your mum.”

“Brrruh, baah, baaa-aaah!”

“That so, is it?” he replied solemnly to the intent baby babble. “We’ll just have to tell her that, then, won’t we?”

He cuddled Thursday against his chest and headed on down the stairs to find Buffy sitting on the couch, looking pensive. Well, that didn’t bode well, did it?

“What were those wankers on about? Wanting to cut your salary or somesuch?” Miserable, miserly bunch of sods. Of course, they _were_ getting a pretty good chunk of dosh from them all regular like, so they weren’t being as closed fisted as they could have been. Still and all….

“What?” Buffy looked up at him, her nose wrinkling adorably in confusion. “Oh, no. It, uh, wasn’t the Council.” She stared down at her hands in her lap as if she could see the secrets of the universe there. “It was Wesley.”

Spike frowned at the name. Wesley? Did they know a Wesley? A vague memory stirred.

“That the pillock meant to be your watcher at one point? Now on Team Angel?”

If he was right, that’d been the bloke whose ham-fisted research into what wasn’t any of his business had called the Council down on them. Of course, that had resulted in college funds for Dawn and Thursday – they’d have to split that second one and start putting in some of Buffy’s earnings – a paycheck for the Slayer, and the Council footing the bill for their trip to Africa. Spike wasn’t sure if he wanted to punch the ponce or put him on the sodding Christmas list. Maybe both.

“Yeah. Um.... Apparently Angel somehow got Darla pregnant.”

Angel had been desperate enough to shag Darla and had gotten…? Huh. Well, more in heaven and hell, and all that rot, yeah? And honestly, considering he was male, Spike’s own situation was the odder of the two by far. No, actually, now he thought on it, the oddest thing of all was that the old hag hadn’t ripped herself open and eaten the bloody thing. Angel had probably put a stop to it somehow, the hypocritical tosser. Came to Sunnydale all on his high horse and said they should kill Thursday, and now he was working to keep his own demon spawn alive.

“Wesley thinks I should go down and help as an ‘expert’ on vampire pregnancy. Then Giles called,” she smiled wryly, “to tell me that Wesley would probably be calling me. He’d been trying to get through, but Wes’s dial finger is apparently faster.”

Wesley thought she should go down to L.A.? To help Angel? And that’s what had Buffy all lost in thought? Thursday suddenly squawked in protest, and he loosed his too-tight hold on her. _Just stop for a second and count to ten,_ Ben’s voice said in his mind, remembered advice from some of their sessions. _Let yourself think before you jump to conclusions._

Buffy didn’t look like someone upset that her ex had moved on or eager to pop down for a visit. She looked like she’d swallowed a live fish, and it was flopping about in her guts. He sighed and sat down beside her, handing Thursday over. Buffy lifted her top, undid the cup of her nursing bra, and had their girl feeding in no time at all. She’d a few teeth now, but a light bop and a finger in her mouth to break the suction had quickly taught Thursday that if she bit, she didn’t get to eat for a few minutes. Odd sort of lesson for a half-vampire to learn.

“You don’t wanna go, do you?” he said quietly.

Buffy shook her head. “Not really, no. If it was just Angel….” She trailed off and shrugged uncomfortably.

“Angel can go hang for all I care,” Spike said bluntly. “But, yeah, it’s not just him and Darla, is it? There’s a sprog all caught up in the mix.” He reached out to gently stroke Thursday’s cheek.

“Yeah,” Buffy said, gazing down at their daughter with a tender smile. She sighed and looked up at him, eyes dark with confusion. “I don’t want to go down there, and I don’t want to leave you and Thurs-”

“Then don’t,” Spike interrupted. “Take us with you. No doubt none of that lot wants me there, but who’s more of an expert, really? A vampire that’s been through it all, or the one what knocked him up? And as for Thursday, she’d probably be safer wherever we are.”

Buffy nodded and snuggled up against him, careful not to dislodge the sprog. They sat together in comfortable silence for a while until Buffy pulled away to switch breasts. She sighed. “Once she’s done eating, I’ll call Wesley back and let him know we’re coming. Then I’ll do a light patrol before we go. You want me to pick you up some fries from the Doublemeat?”

“Oh god, yes.” Just the thought made him feel like he was about to drool all over himself. At least it wasn’t bloody pineapples again. Though pineapples dipped in blood didn’t actually sound half bad at the moment.

“There’s something fishy about that place. They seem to have a lot more employee turnover than you’d expect. I know that’s kind of normal for fast food, but….”

“We’ll give it a proper stakeout when we get back,” Spike promised. “Or even ask Xander, Anya, and Tara to give it a look over. Alright?”

“Yeah.” She leaned in to kiss him. “I really don’t want to have to deal with Angel, but this could be a good thing. Maybe?” She flashed a nervous smile. “Maybe show him that I’m not the little girl he used to know. I don’t need him anymore.”

He tilted his head as he looked at her, his strong, powerful Slayer, still all vulnerable from all Angel had done to her. He did that. Got under a person’s skin and wormed his way into their heart, leaving weeping tunnels behind that never quite seemed to heal. _Buffy’s gonna be different,_ he vowed. He’d help her be different.

“You never needed him in the first place, love.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Angel episode Billy is referenced here. For those who haven't seen it, Billy Blim is a half-demon who could infect others with serious misogyny. This was done to Wesley.

Buffy watched from the passenger seat of the DeSoto as Spike drove, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel while singing along to Hotel California. She wasn’t sure if his choice of music had been a subconscious decision or sheer coincidence. She was pretty sure it wasn’t deliberate, though. Even with the soul, passive-aggression really wasn’t his thing. He was more about the aggressive-aggression.

The song ended, and Spike glanced at her for a moment before looking back towards the road. “I don’t want him to know,” he said abruptly. No need to ask who “him” was.

“About the soul or….” She looked down at his midsection even though there was no visible proof yet of the ritual they’d done nearly two weeks ago.

She didn’t know if it was because they’d been the ones actively performing the ritual or if it was all because they’d both been willing participants, but it had been different this time. She’d still been aggressively sexual, but it hadn’t taken her over to the point where she had no real control over her actions. She’d been able to recognize Spike as Spike, as her partner in what they’d chosen to do, and not just some kind of… of _object_ she had to possess and use.

The first time had been horrible and ugly. When it had been retriggered to free them from Willow’s spell, a lot of that ugliness had remained, even if they _had_ consented to it and had turned things around. This time though…. They’d had the house to themselves, Mom and Thursday staying the night with Giles while Dawn had gone to a sleepover at Janice’s. There had been candles everywhere and music on her stereo to set the mood as they’d chanted the words of the ritual together. And then… then there hadn’t been any ugliness at all, just something beautiful.

And now they had baby number two on the way, and that was also a beautiful thing, in all kinds of ways. She could kind of understand those guys who liked to keep their girlfriends or wives barefoot and pregnant all the time. Well, not the barefoot part, ‘cause shoes were awesome, but the pregnant? Oh yeah. It was a major turn on, snuggling up to someone you loved with your hand on their belly, able to feel your kid tucked away safe in there.

"Oi, Slayer! Eyes are up here, pet,” Spike said dryly, cutting into her thoughts.

Buffy felt her cheeks heat with embarrassment even though Spike was her boyfriend, darn it, and the father of her child. Children. She had every right to ogle him while fantasizing about how sexy he’d be with a baby bump. The laughter in his eyes as he glanced at her confirmed that he agreed with her on that. Then his expression turned serious again.

“The soul, mainly,” he said quietly. “Though I’d like to keep the sprog under wraps, too, if possible. Not ashamed of either, or anything, mind, it’s just….” He trailed off and shrugged uncomfortably. “Angel’s a tendency to make everything all about Angel, even when it’s got sod all to do with the self-centered wanker.” He glanced back at her before focusing on the road again. “Sorry, shouldn’t say –”

“Spike, don’t….” Even before the tiny little flinch and the way his hands tightened on the steering wheel, Buffy knew that was the wrong way to start what she wanted to say.

Of course he was going to assume she was getting onto him about the comment about Angel. Smacking him upside the head and calling him a dope like she wanted wasn’t going to fix things. Actually, if they’d been at home, she might have done it anyway, leading to some kinky sex as they talked things out. But they were on the road with a baby in the backseat. Hitting the driver upside the head, no matter how justified, was very much not a good idea. So instead, she reached into her purse and pulled out a small stick with feathers at the end.

He looked away from the road again and started to say something before he saw the stick. He closed his mouth, jaw clenching tight as he glared at it in mute anger. She bopped him on the nose with it, knowing it was stupid but unable to resist. He growled at her, which wasn’t breaking the rules since it wasn’t speech.

“I’ve got the talking stick, so me talky, you listeny…. And drivey,” she added as he glanced back at the road just in time to swerve around a chunk of tire left behind by a semi. The accompanying swearing _did_ technically break the rules, but she wasn’t going to call him on it since it was more or less unrelated. “What I was _trying_ to say is, don’t apologize.”

He stared at her incredulously until she bopped him again and used the talking stick to point at the windshield. “Eyes on the road, buster.” She was quiet for a moment as she toyed with the feathers. Then she sighed. “If it was just about me, I’d be pissed, but you and Angel have a history from, like, _way_ before I was even born. If I got mad about that, then I’d be the one making everything about me, you know?”

It still majorly pissed her off, thinking of how Riley and Angel had reacted to each other. If Spike got like that… well, she’d still yell at him and probably hit him a bit, but it would at least make some kind of _sense_. Spike was used to the idea of Angel taking people from him. Riley, though? He’d just decided, for absolutely no reason, that she must have cheated on him. That she was the kind of person who would not only do that, but would endanger her loved ones and countless innocent strangers just for some nookie with her ex.

“Ahem?”

Buffy blinked and looked up at Spike. He glanced at the stick in her hand, then lifted a brow in a silent question. Oh, right. She still had the talking stick. She fiddled with it for a moment, packing away the thoughts about Riley. He was gone and not a part of her life anymore.

“I’m not going to ask you to just stand there and take whatever Angel dishes out. I’d appreciate it if you didn’t start anything, but if _he_ does....” She put the stick down. “You bloody well end it, okay?”

His expression looked like it couldn’t quite decide between being touched by what she’d said or amused by the words she’d used to say it. Finally, though, he just grinned and saluted. “Whatever you say, love. You’re the boss.”

Buffy smiled and settled more comfortably into her seat. “Damn straight.”

Actually, Spike was kind of the boss right now, though they were both happier with her having the official title. Things had been pretty rough when he’d been carrying Thursday, to the point where Buffy was sure they would have lost her if she hadn’t been a slayer/vampire hybrid. She’d gotten to pamper Spike during the first week for this second baby. No getting his head bashed in, no malnutrition, and the only chains had been part of sexy fun times instead of a way to keep him prisoner while he was forced to carry her child.

She wanted to keep doing right by him during this, and that meant keeping him as happy and stress-free as she could. Which… didn’t really go along with helping Angel. _If there wasn’t a kid involved,_ she thought glumly. There was, though. A kid that could be evil incarnate or completely innocent. They’d do what they could to help, despite all the baggage they both had when it came to Angel. If he couldn’t play nice and ended up causing Spike too much stress…. Well, Angel would just have to deal with it all himself, wouldn’t he?

 

**….**

 

Wesley watched as Angel restlessly paced the lobby. The vampire with a soul’s hair was a disheveled mess from running his hands through it, and he didn’t seem to be dealing at all well with the situation. Not that Wesley could really blame the man. Finding out you were about to be a father would be quite a lot to process even in normal circumstances and these circumstances were far from normal.

The bearer – in more ways than one – of that particular news was still sat upon the circular couch with Cordelia and Fred in close attendance. Fred…. Wesley’s throat closed for a moment as he watched her murmuring to Darla. They’d been able to work together with no real issue, but some of the closeness they’d once had was gone, shattered by his words and deeds while under the influence of Billy Blim.

She didn’t blame him for any of it, of course, the dear, sweet girl, but that didn’t change how he felt. He’d belittled her, said the most atrocious things, and had tried to kill her. How could he ever tell her he loved her after that? How could he trust himself around her?

“Wes,” Angel snapped, drawing him out of his thoughts. “How much longer until your expert on demon pregnancies shows up?”

“Ah, well, not _demon_ pregnancies, per se,” he prevaricated. He should have just gone with his first thought of taking Darla to sing for Lorne. It had been bad enough when he’d thought it would just be Buffy, but when she’d called back to tell him she’d be bringing Spike along…. Well, she was absolutely correct about him being more of an authority on the subject, but it seemed like adding both a spark and several gallons of petrol to the proverbial powder keg. “Just vampire. And, ah, the term ‘expert’ might be stretching things somewhat.”

"Then why the hell have we been just standing around here for over two hou-”

“Whoa, whoa, hold the phone,” Gunn cut in, pushing away from the wall he’d been leaning against. “Are you telling me there’ve been _other_ vampire pregnancies?”

“Just one as far as I know,” Angel said with a frown.

“Oh, my god, you got another vampire pregnant and didn’t tell us about it?” Cordelia stood up and stalked towards Angel. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

“What? No, I did _not_ get him preg-”

“Did you just say _him_? You got a dude pregnant?” Gunn jumped away from Angel with a speed that was rather amusing. He held up his hands at Angel’s annoyed look and backed up another step. “Your preferences are your own business, man, but keep your swimmers the hell away from me.”

“If you’d all just calm down for a moment,” Wesley began. But of course, no one was paying attention.

“I didn’t get anyone pregnant!” Angel shouted, drowning out Wesley’s attempt to explain.

“Oh, I seriously beg to differ there,” Darla said, struggling up to her feet.

“Here, now, you need to be careful,” Fred said, giving her a hand up.

“We don’t even know for sure that’s mine!”

“Oh, is that what you tried to tell the poor guy you knocked up? Nice line, Angel,” Cordelia said sarcastically, hands on her hips.

 _Perhaps I should hide under my desk until they’ve all got it out of their systems?_ Wesley thought with a sigh. This was not going well.

“Damn it, I didn’t get Spike pregnant! That was –”

“What’s with all the shouting?” a voice asked.

And there she was. Buffy Summers, the active Slayer, standing in the doorway with a couple of bags in each hand and a purse slung over her shoulder. Everything seemed to freeze for a moment as Angel stared at her.

“Buffy,” he said quietly, longing and pain in his voice.

“Angel.”

Like his, her voice was quiet, but her tone was hard and wary. Angel didn’t seem to notice as he slowly approached her. Then Spike walked in, baby carrier in one hand and the baby itself cuddled against his chest, and the powder keg went off.


	3. Chapter 3

Usually, when Angel dreamed of being with Buffy, it was beautiful and tender. He’d lay her down on his bed and make slow, sweet love to her while she gazed up at him with shy adoration. Sometimes, though, it was different. Something sordid and obscene. Buffy on top of him, eyes wild, cheeks flushed, bosom heaving as she held a stake to his chest, preparing to drive it home.

Unfortunately, it wasn’t a dream this time, and his confusion and revulsion with himself did nothing to temper the arousal. It was sick and wrong, but something about her pinning him down, ready to turn him to dust with a single twitch of her wrist….

He wasn’t entirely sure what had happened. Buffy had shown up out of the blue, and before he’d been able to ask her what crisis had sent her running to him, Spike had come in behind her, holding a baby. Images of Spike and Drusilla hunting children had flashed through Angel’s mind even as he acted, lunging towards the younger vampire in an attempt to get the baby away from him before it was too late.

Instead of backing him up, Buffy had dropped two of the bags she’d been holding so she could get a better grip on the third and smack him in the face with it while Spike had kicked him in the ribs. And now….

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Buffy spat at him, fury in her eyes. The stake pressed harder against him, piercing his skin.

What was wrong with _him_? She was the one who had left an innocent baby with a monster. “Damn it, Buffy, I don’t have time for this! Spike has….” He trailed off and grabbed at the stake, trying to wrestle it away from her. “I have to save….”

There was no point in trying to explain. Like usual, it was up to him. Didn’t she know how easy it was to kill a baby? Spike could just let go and let it fall to the floor. That chip probably wouldn’t fire at all, and even if did, the baby would still be dead and ready to be eaten. Couldn’t she hear it crying while Spike… murmured comfortingly? What?

“Save her from _what_ exactly?” Buffy asked. She sounded disgusted, but the pressure on the stake lessened. “Being held by her own daddy?”

At that point, Spike’s actual words registered. “Hush, love, ‘s alright, Daddy’s got ya. Mummy took the bad man down.”

Bad man. He wasn’t a bad man. He’d just been trying to… save a baby from her own father who hadn’t actually been doing anything other than holding her. He’d just been talking about it with his team, but he’d somehow forgotten about Buffy and Spike getting caught up in a fertility ritual and having a child together. Or, well, not forgotten exactly, but it hadn’t connected. He’d seen Spike with a child, and it had reminded him of the last time he’d seen something like that. Spike bringing home a snack for Drusilla.

“Buffy, I’m….” What? Sorry for attacking Spike? He’d done what he thought was right. Maybe he’d been mistaken, but that didn’t make his actions wrong. Not really. Especially when it came to a soulless demon.

“Save it,” Buffy said, shaking her head and getting off of him. Instead of reaching down to help him up, she turned away and went to Spike.

Angel slowly got to his feet, hunching awkwardly to hide the effect Buffy had had on him. “What are you even doing here?” he demanded.

“Ugh. Typical.” He could practically hear Cordelia rolling her eyes. “Hurricane Buffy rolls into town, and all the blood immediately leaves your brain to visit the south pole. Isn’t it obvious? Wes’s expert is the other vampire you knocked up.”

“I didn’t…”

“You _what_?” Spike said at the same time, interrupting Angel’s protest. “What the bloody hell have you been _telling_ your people?”

 

**…**

 

_Good thing I bubblewrapped all the breakable stuff,_ Buffy thought with a sigh as she pulled candles, incense, and a couple of big glass jars of red sand out of one of the bags she’d dropped earlier. The other bag had had the parts of Thursday’s portable playpen. Spike was working on putting it together with the help of the man who had introduced himself as Charles Gunn. Not that Spike actually needed the help, but they seemed to be having fun chatting about bar snacks.

“… secret is, you soak the onion in ice water for about an hour. That way, it’ll hold its shape when you deep fry it.”

“Huh, wonder how they figured that trick out?” Gunn asked, sounding appropriately impressed with Spike’s onion blossom knowledge.

“Not a bloody clue, though that’s nothing compared to artichoke dip. I mean, what crazy bugger thought it’d be a good idea puttin’ something that spikey into his gob?”

Buffy smiled slightly and shook her head. She was still fuming about the fact that Wesley hadn’t told Angel they were coming, but Spike was already over it. He’d always been one to roll with things and keep on going. That had been something she’d grudgingly admired about him even when they’d been mortal enemies.

She reluctantly pulled her attention from her vampire and focused on the other two. Angel was standing around, brooding. The protective instinct had calmed down a bit when she’d realized he thought he was saving Thursday, but she still had a pretty big urge to hit him. He could have hurt her little girl, and if there had been a real fight between the two male vampires, one unlucky hit could have been enough to cause a miscarriage or something.

Angel hadn’t even managed to touch Spike, but Buffy was still really glad she’d decided to pack the things for that magic detecting trance she’d learned when her mother had been sick. It was to get a look at whatever magic was involved with Darla’s pregnancy, but the fact that she could check on Spike’s at the same time was a major bonus.

Darla herself was pacing restlessly, giving everyone hungry looks that had Buffy’s slayer instincts on high alert. The protective instinct wasn’t too happy, either. Darla’s gaze kept lingering a little too long on Thursday, who was in her carrier next to Spike, busily gnawing on her lamb plushie. When was the last time Darla had had blood? And had it been some poor person she’d murdered, donor blood, or the pig Angel had in the mini fridge in the office behind the front counter?

_The baby is what matters right now,_ she reminded herself. The baby Darla was carrying was the only reason she wasn’t dust. And the only reason Buffy was going to be offering the undead bitch some of the donated human blood she’d put in the full sized refrigerator in the hotel’s kitchen for Spike and Thursday. She wasn’t entirely sure what Darla’s baby was, but it was growing inside a vampire, so it stood to reason it needed nutrients from what vampires ate. And vampires were designed to eat people, even if they could survive on other types of blood. Survive didn’t necessarily mean thrive.

Buffy sighed and started getting things ready for the trance. Attacks and weird misunderstandings aside, at least this was going better than the last time she’d seen Angel in L.A. When Faith had run here after stealing her life. When Angel had taken Faith’s side and had _ordered_ Buffy out of L.A., like he had any right to tell her where she could or couldn’t go.

“Hey, you squeeze that jar any harder, and it’s going to shatter all over the floor,” Cordelia said quietly, breaking into Buffy’s thoughts. “These are brand new sandals, and I so do not want glass and actual sand all over them.”

Buffy carefully set the jar down. She’d been trying really hard not to think too deeply about Angel. All of the things that time and talking to Ben had made disturbingly clear…. Ben, she needed to call Ben. She could talk to him, and…. She was already reaching for her purse and the new cell phone inside, but she forced herself to pull away. She couldn’t call him up every time she had a problem, especially with him working the nightshift at the ER a lot. She could handle this herself, using some of the techniques Ben had taught her. She took a deep, steadying breath. Count to ten and think of positive things. That was the key.

_One, two, three_ …. They were going to have a proper Thanksgiving with Mom involved in a couple of weeks. It would be the first time in two years. No needy aunts calling her away and no tumors keeping her in the hospital. _Four, five, six…._ It would be Thursday’s first Thanksgiving. Unless you counted the one where Spike had shamelessly used her as an excuse for snagging the last piece of pumpkin pie, which Buffy didn’t. Holidays only counted if you’d already been born. _Seven, eight, nine…._ Should they give Thursday some turkey blood? She wasn’t a fan of pig, but turkey was a completely different animal. Literally. _Ten._

Buffy glanced at Cordelia with slight smile. “Sorry. Last time I saw Angel here in L.A. wasn’t exactly all kittens and roses. The two times after when he came by Sunnydale to beat up on my boyfriends weren’t all that fun either.”

“Two times?” Cordelia asked. “I knew about the run in with the military guy, but when did - ?”

“Valentine’s Day. He came to ‘rescue’ me from Spike, and then thought we should kill our unborn baby because he was convinced she was a soulless abomination.”

Cordy winced at that. “Oh. Yeah, that was back when he was all obsessed over….” She trailed off and glanced towards Darla. “If it makes you feel any better, he’s kind of feeling the soulless abomination thing with this kid, too.”

“Well, at least it means he’s not as big a hypocrite as I thought,” Buffy said wryly as she started getting the circle for the trance ready. She was making it big, so she had room to move.

She hoped Darla and Angel’s baby did have a soul. She knew from the time she’d spent getting close to Spike that you didn’t need one to be good if you wanted it enough, but Angel would never believe that. She couldn’t tell if Darla was being influenced by a soul or not. Mostly, she just seemed bitchy and agitated, which was fair enough for eight or nine months pregnant.

How would she even act with a soul? Spike had been a marshmallow as a human, so he’d been upset and horrified by the things he’d done. He still had nightmares because of it. From all Buffy had heard, Darla had been kind of a heinous bitch in life, to the point that she’d been handpicked by the Master to become a vampire.

“Willow told me you were having a baby,” Cordelia said abruptly. “But she didn’t go into much detail, so I sort of thought it was military guy’s and that you were the one pregnant. And that it was because of a broken condom or something.” She snorted and rolled her eyes. “Silly me, thinking anything _normal_ would happen in Sunnydale.”

“Or that anything normal could ever happen to me.”

She kept her tone light and joking, hiding the little sting of pain. Normal…. She’d wanted that once. Everyone had wanted it for her, including Angel. But there was no such thing as normal. Not for her, anyway. _No, that’s not true,_ she told herself firmly. She’d made her own normal, and she was happy with it. She wasn’t going to let being around Angel ruin that for her.

“How’s Willow doing, anyway? I haven’t heard from her in months, and the last time we talked, she seemed really distracted.”

Buffy froze. God, Willow. She didn’t want to _think_ about Willow right now. “She’s in England,” she said as neutrally as she could. “Studying.”

_How to_ not _use magic for every damn thing._ And hopefully learning to grow the hell up, instead of using magic and an evil demon arm to control her friends when they’d started to move on into adulthood. And definitely learning that she couldn’t just try to erase an innocent baby from existence. If that part of Willow’s spell had actually _worked_ …. Buffy took a deep, calming breath.

“I’d really rather not talk about it,” she said quietly. “And the sooner I get this trance going, the sooner we might have some answers.”

Cordelia’s eyes narrowed slightly, but she actually let it go without saying anything about it. “Right, I’ll leave you to it. I’ll see if I can get Darla to settle down. It’ll probably be easier to see what’s going on if she isn’t pacing all over the place.”

She walked away, leaving Buffy alone to finish her preparations. Once she’d finished, she glanced over at Spike. The pen was put together, and Thursday was in it, gurgling happily to herself as she motored around on her hands and knees.

“Ready to start, then, love?” Spike asked.

“Yeah.”

He walked to the edge of the circle and started tapping one hand against the other in time with her heartbeat. She didn’t need it to meditate, but it helped. She closed her eyes and got into position, taking up a fighting stance instead of sitting down. She exploded into motion, reveling in the power and strength of her body as she moved. Circling, circling, listening as Spike’s tapping sped up with her heartrate and then, finally… _there_. She found the contrasting stillness within and sank down into the trance.

 

**…**

 

Hunger gnawed at Darla like a crazed beast. All these idiots, walking around with the blood pumping in their veins. She could suck them all dry, and it still wouldn’t be enough. It was never enough. It would be better than that disgusting pig swill Angel had tried to give her, but there would still be an emptiness inside of her that refused to be sated.

Her gaze drifted to the baby in the playpen. Young, rich, sweet little slayer hybrid. Darla snorted in disgust. Typical Spike. Both a freak and such a whipped little puppy he’d let the _slayer_ get him pregnant. And not just once, judging from the delicious, hormone-laden scent he was giving off. Had Angel noticed that yet? Probably not. Her dear boy had never been one to use his nose unless he absolutely had to.

Cordelia came over and tried to get her to sit down, but Darla waved the girl away. She didn’t want to sit. She wanted to stand and slaughter them all. Especially the baby. There was a strange twinge at the thought, almost like… _guilt_ of all things, but the hunger was enough to overpower it.

Spike left the playpen to go to Buffy like a good little kept boy, and Darla smiled. She’d wait, give the slayer a chance to get deep into her trance, and then…. The vampire slowly licked her lips.


	4. Chapter 4

The first thing Buffy noticed when she opened her eyes was the crackling red glow around herself. She’d seen the same thing when she’d done the trance last year, so she knew exactly what it was. A visual manifestation of the fertility ritual’s effect on her. A glance at Spike showed the same crackling blue energy field and purple tendrils as before.

This time, the purple glow just under his navel was strong and bright. Poor Thursday hadn’t been doing as well, mainly because Spike had spent the first week and a half getting beaten up, starved, and tortured. Buffy was doing a lot better by him this time, and she was going to _keep_ doing better.

 _Good plan, and I’m going to stick to it, but standing around staring at Spike isn’t going to solve anything._ She pulled her attention away and looked at Darla. Huh. Well, that was interesting. There was a glowing golden baby shape over the vampire’s stomach, covered with a transparent thing that looked kind of like a chainmail apron. Gold tendrils were woven all through Darla, pulsing as what the baby needed was drawn from her. Whatever she couldn’t provide, the baby seemed to be getting from the magic apron.

“So, is it working? What’s going on?” Angel’s voice sounded weird, all echo-y and distorted. Buffy had expected that.

“Yeah, it’s working.” Her own voice wasn’t much better. She turned to face Angel. “Oh god!”

“What’s wrong?”

Angel took a step towards her, and she recoiled in horror. What was…? All this time, Angel had been dealing with…. Buffy felt like she was going to be sick. Thick, black, _writhing_ chains were wrapped tightly around him. They were covered in jagged spikes that pinned a silently screaming golden overlay to his body. His soul. Oh god, it was his _soul_. And the chains were a manifestation of the curse. The part of her that wasn’t completely wigging out over the sight noticed the golden color of the soul and that it was identical to the baby. And to the color Spike’s eyes had flashed when he’d won back his soul. Did that mean…?

There was a sudden cacophony of echoing and distorted sound. Someone shouting. The familiar _smack_ of flesh against flesh. Screams. A baby crying. _Her_ baby crying, and the nightmare slowness of moving through molasses as Buffy struggled to respond to the sounds. Spike snarled something, and his voice sounded different. Not just the trance, though, which was starting to fade. He’d vamped out.

Buffy wasn’t fully out of the trance yet, and her body was moving too slowly. Too slow, too slow. No time. Oh god, she wouldn’t be in time. Spike was punching Darla in the face and pulling Thursday away from her before the female vampire could sink her fangs into the baby’s tender flesh.

Darla screamed in rage and grabbed at Spike, the now barely visible magic apron pulsing as it gave her unnatural strength. She pulled him against her and bit down on his neck, gulping hungrily at his blood. Buffy lunged towards them, the last of the trance shaken off, reminding herself that vampires couldn’t die from being drained, and that Spike had gone through a lot worse while carrying Thursday.

Cordy and Fred jumped in suddenly, the latter grabbing Darla by the hair while Cordelia – who had a bloody nose and looked pretty disheveled – shoved a cross against her face. Both vampires hissed in pain, but it got the bitch’s fangs out of Spike. Fred got backhanded to the ground, which was apparently enough to bring Wesley into things. Where was…? Ah, there. Gunn had Thursday now, while Spike was being an idiot and trying to dive back into the fray.

 _Bathtub, bubblewrap, packing peanuts,_ Buffy thought grimly as she delivered a full-force kick that sent Darla flying into the wall with a satisfying _thud_. She could chain him in, and maybe let him out for walkies every once in a while if he was good. Or just keep him there for the entire pregnancy. Despite what Spike seemed to think, boredom and inactivity wouldn’t actually kill him.

Darla pushed off from the wall and came at her, but Buffy was ready. _Remember the baby. Remember the baby_ , she chanted to herself as she fought the urge to try to rip the woman’s head off with her bare hands. Darla needed to dust, and the sooner the better, but the kid was innocent. At least she didn’t have to hold back beyond not dusting the bitch. That magic apron thing would protect the baby from her blows, just like it had protected it from Darla’s abortion attempts.

A punch sent Darla staggering back, but before Buffy could close back in, Spike tackled the other vampire to the ground and started hitting her. That was when Angel finally made himself useful, pulling Spike away and shoving him to the side before wrestling his hissing, spitting hellcat of an ex (or possibly not so ex) into some heavy duty chains.

It was over, done with for now, but Buffy’s blood was still up, the rage and desire to kill the bitch throbbing through her like her own personal dance music. The protective instinct wasn’t ready to let it go, and the fact that a huge part of her agreed with it wasn’t helping any. She took several slow, deep breaths, her fists clenching and unclenching at her side. Calm thoughts. Happy thoughts. Count to ten and be calm.

“You alright, love?”

She turned to face Spike as he walked towards her. He was obviously woozy and unsteady from blood loss, and the hand pressed tightly against the side of his neck wasn’t doing a lot to hide the fact that Darla had tried to eat him. Which was actually kind of weird, since vampires couldn’t really feed from each other. Not in a way that actually did anything for hunger, at least.

 _Stupid vampire._ She wasn’t sure which one the thought was aimed at. No, no, it was definitely Spike. Yeah, Darla had attacked their baby, and he had done the right thing protecting her, but once they’d gotten Darla off of him, he should have stayed the hell out of it. Her fists clenched again. Calm, calm, calm….

“Right nasty piece of work, she is, but a good spot of violence, wasn’t it?”

Buffy was still telling herself to be calm and to count to ten even as she cocked back her fist and socked Spike right in the nose.

 

**…**

 

“Ow! Bloody bitch!” Spike spat, clutching at his injured nose with one hand and fighting the urge to hit Buffy back with the other. “What was that for?”

If they’d been home, he’d have done it. They’d have had a right proper row that would have ended in shagging or – depending on how sodding moody he was – him storming off to the Bronze for a few rounds of pool with Xander. They’d have bitched about their respective birds for a couple of hours while the boy taunted him with the fact that he couldn’t drown his irritation in booze. Then he would have gone back, and there probably still would have been shagging.

But they weren’t home. They were in Los sodding Angeles, and the only reason Angel’s lot were being fairly friendly was because they thought he was still chipped. So he just had to stand there and _take_ it when Buffy decided she wanted to use him as her own personal punching bag while Angel, the smug git, watched it all.

“What was that for?” Buffy repeated as if it were the daftest thing she’d ever heard. “You… you _idiot_!”

“You were in the way,” Angel said as he finished up chaining Darla to an office chair.

In the bloody way, was it? Spike’s jaw and fists clenched. That _bitch_. Maybe he didn’t have a ritual-induced protective instinct screaming away inside, but Thursday was his daughter too, and he’d every right to protect her. Every right to make Darla _pay_. Buffy didn’t even know the full extent of things. None of them did. Not yet, anyway.

“Shut up, Angel!” Buffy snapped, wiping the pompous superiority right off the wanker’s face. That cheered Spike up enough that he finally noticed the fear in her eyes. Bloody hell. “How much blood have you lost?”

Enough that he was dizzy and lightheaded, and the only thing keeping him on his feet was adrenaline. Which apparently thought now was a fine time to bugger off and leave him in the lurch. Everything swayed and smeared together into strange new shapes and colors as his knees suddenly buckled. Buffy caught him before he could fall flat on his arse on the floor and led him to the lobby’s circular couch, muttering the entire time about stupid vampires with no sense.

And the thing of it was, she was absolutely right. He’d been an idiot. The instant he’d gotten loose from Darla, he should have hightailed it to the kitchen and gotten some blood into himself. Instead, he’d handed Thursday off to Charlie, and had dived right back in, letting his fury get in the way of his sense. All because of one little thing that was bloody huge.

A hungry vampire going for a tasty snack was one thing. He could understand that. Nature of the beast, and all. But the bitch had _hesitated._ Darla, who had always considered infants a grand delicacy, had hesitated after getting her hands on Thursday. He’d known, then – even before sensing it when Darla had had her fangs in him – that Darla’s sprog had a soul and that it was influencing her. A more or less _souled_ vampire had tried to eat his little girl.

Poor little mite was still crying, shrieking her fear and unhappiness at an increasingly uncomfortable looking Charlie. “Bring her on over,” Spike said wearily as he dropped down on the couch. Buffy murmured something about getting some blood and left him there.

“You don’t need to keep me chained,” Darla insisted, the fact that her eyes were locked on Thursday belying her words. “It’s not like eating the brat would have helped.” She laughed, a hollow, dark sound. “Nothing does. I’m always, always _hungry_!”

“I think it might be best to keep you chained up for now, ma’am,” the twitchy little bird, Fred, said, voice carefully neutral.

She’d a few bumps and bruises the ex-watcher was tending to. Something going on there. The man was treating her like a treasure he was afraid of breaking. And he was moving like he was afraid _he_ was going to break at any moment. Just then, Charlie handed over Thursday, and Spike lost all interest in the pair.

He closed his eyes and breathed in his girl’s scent, letting it settle him. God, he was tired. And hungry. Not just for blood, either. _Think I’d kill for a decent order of chips. Especially with chili and cheese slathered on. Maybe some fried up onions, too._ He froze, suddenly. Hungry, and not just for blood…. Darla’s sprog had a soul and he’d heard a heartbeat when he’d been all up close and personal like with its mum. Meant it wasn’t a vampire. At least, not fully. Stood to reason it might need something other than just vampire food.

The sprog had survived a lot of things meant to kill it, what was a little malnutrition to all of that? Of course, just because it could survive not having what it needed didn’t mean Darla wasn’t going to be craving those things.

He opened his eyes and glanced at her. “You had any human food, lately?”

She gave him a look full of such disgust and revulsion that he was certain she’d sensed his soul when she’d bitten him. He thought she might have. Hopefully she’d keep her gob shut about it and Angel would keep being oblivious.

“Yeah, no. Just because we now technically have the same sire doesn’t mean I picked up any of your disturbing fetishes.”

Oh, right, he’d forgotten. Darla was technically still just a fledge, not even two years a vampire. She still felt like one over four-hundred, though. Odd, that. You’d think with a different sire, her vampire self would be different. He shook the thought away. Wasn’t important right now.

“Someone give her a packet of crisps or somesuch. Her kid has a heartbeat, so it’s not a vampire. Needs human food, I’d reckon.”

“So would I,” Buffy said, coming back into the lobby with a mug of blood and sitting beside him.

The sleeves of her lightweight green turtleneck covered anywhere she was likely to have cut, but he could smell her blood mixed in with the other human. He downed it in just a few gulps, some of the dizziness fading away. Not enough to replace all he’d lost, but a good start.

Angel scowled suddenly and took a step towards them. “Is that…?”

“Yes,” Buffy said, voice mostly calm but tinged with annoyance. “It’s donated human blood that I brought. Thursday needs it.” Technically true, though she did alright with horse blood mixed in. The pure human was just for him, and just because he was carrying their second sprog, Aliena. Buffy continued on as if Angel hadn’t said anything. “Spike needed human food when he was pregnant with Thursday.” She focused on Angel again, though she seemed to be having trouble looking directly at him. “The baby has a heartbeat. And it has a soul. I saw it.”

“No!” Darla yelled, eyes wild, as if Buffy had just suggested the sprog inside of her was some sort of sharktopus that was going to bloody well eat its way out of her. “No, it doesn’t have a soul! It can’t have a soul!”

“It does,” Spike said quietly. “And you can feel it. Just like I felt Thursday.”

Angel gave him an odd look, then turned to Darla, talking softly as she started to cry. The humans didn’t get it. Not even Buffy, though he was certain she would, soon. Darla was upset because she had hesitated. She had felt guilt over eating a child she didn’t even know, that didn’t belong to anyone that was important to her. She’d been able to pack it away, deny it, but now there was no hiding it from herself anymore.

Spike almost felt sorry for her. Almost. Mostly though, he just felt tired. He shifted Thursday to cuddle more comfortably against him and leaned against Buffy. He’d close his eyes just for a moment. Just for a…. Buffy moved, letting his head rest on her chest while her arm wrapped around him, holding him close. He fell asleep to the sound of her heartbeat.

 


	5. Chapter 5

The kettle had just started to whistle when Angel showed up in the kitchen. Buffy ignored him at first, continuing with the comforting ritual of making a cup of tea. She’d brought the tea itself – good quality loose leaf Assam – and the little mesh infuser cup with her from home, but everything else had been easily found in the hotel’s kitchen. There was even milk and sugar cubes.

She turned the stove off to stop the kettle’s whistling, poured boiling water into the teacup, and then dumped it out into the sink once the cup was warm. Each step was something she could focus on without needing to actually think. Then the infuser went into the cup. She’d already put a heaping teaspoon of leaves into it, which filled it less than halfway. That gave the leaves room to expand, which, according to Spike, let them release their full flavor.

She poured more boiling water into the cup and covered it with a saucer. Now she just had to wait for about three or four minutes, which left her with nothing to distract from the soulful, broody elephant in the room. She was pretty sure he wasn’t going to let her keep ignoring him and even more sure that she didn’t want him taking the lead in this conversation.

“How’s Darla doing?” she asked, without turning to look at him.

Looking at Angel right now was very much of the not good. The trance had completely broken during her fight with Darla, but memory kept painting itself over Angel, showing her that tormented soul. If she turned to look at him, she would see that. Or the dark, mysterious demon hunter her sixteen-year-old self had gotten all starry-eyed over. Maybe both. Either way, she didn’t want to see it. One would make her feel sorry for him and the other…. She wasn’t in love with him anymore. She knew that, but she’d never really gotten closure for their relationship, and it made things confusing.

“Better. She’s, uh, not as hysterical, and Fred found her a small bag of chips. Then she took Spike and Thursday upstairs to one of the rooms we have fixed up.” There was a pause. “Fred that is, not Darla.”

“Yeah, I kind of figured that.”

That was good. Spike had only managed a five-minute nap, and he was going to need more than that to recover from the blood loss. He’d need more blood and some human food, too. It was also good that Fred felt safe with him. Buffy had told them about the chip (which was totally still there. For reals) from the start, but she’d been worried that Spike’s completely justified attack on Darla might make them nervous around him.

Buffy’s reminder about the chip followed by a nasty castration joke from Angel seemed to have put things at ease again. Though she was quietly seething about that joke. Yeah, okay, so it was the kind of thing she and the Scoobs had said about Spike a lot, but they’d stopped doing that even before the chip had been removed. And she kind of had the feeling she would have been pissed even if all this had come up before she’d fallen in love with Spike. Sort of a “we can pick on our pain-in-the-butt vampire, but heaven help the neighbor kids if they try” kind of thing.

Neighbor kid…. Buffy closed her eyes for a moment to let that really sink in. Angel was the neighbor kid, and not one of them. Not anymore, if he ever really had been. He’d always been drifting in and out, leaving cryptic messages and rarely there when you needed him. Spike had always been showing up like the proverbial bad penny, wanting their company without wanting to admit to it.

“Buffy, we need to talk,” Angel said quietly into the silence.

What was it with people wanting to talk to her and declaring it a need they both suddenly shared? Angel, Willow, it was the same. We _need_ to talk. Never the truth, which was, I want to run my mouth at you whether you want to deal with me or not. And they never seemed interested in what _she_ had to say.

Buffy clenched her fists and took a slow, deep breath before finally turning around to face Angel. Deep brown eyes full of smoldering passion. There was a small part of her that wanted to melt into his arms, just let him be the big, strong man who would protect her from the world. She was easily able to squash that part of herself down. The ghost was still there, haunting the depths of her psyche, but she hadn’t been that girl in a long time.

“The tea will be ready in about two minutes,” she said evenly. “You have until then.”

Angel frowned, looking confused, like her response hadn’t been what he expected. He shook it off, though, and started to talk. “Look, I appreciate what you’ve done, but you shouldn’t be here. It’s too dangerous for us to be together. We have to stay away from each other.”

“Like you stayed away Valentine’s Day?”

He at least had the decency to wince, but that didn’t stop him from trying to justify it. “That was different. I went there to –”

“To what?” Buffy cut in. “Save me from the ‘yappy, castrated puppy dog’ in my house? I’m the slayer, Angel, not some delicate little damsel in need of rescue.”

“Okay, maybe I overreacted,” he reluctantly admitted, running a hand through his hair as he started to pace. He stopped right in front of her, eyes dark with something she probably would have called love in the past. “I love you, Buffy, you know that. It makes me crazy, sometimes, and that’s why you can’t be here. You need to take your baby and leave.”

Buffy’s eyes narrowed. Did he honestly expect her to take Spike’s child away from him and leave him behind? She felt sick at the thought. How many times had she woken up to find Spike, wild-eyed and shaking from a nightmare, holding Thursday and practically petting her bald in an effort to convince himself that she was still there, that no one was going to take her away from him? Too many to count, and there was no way in hell Buffy was going to turn his nightmares into reality. And she definitely wasn’t leaving him here with Angel.

“Don’t worry about Spike coming after you,” Angel continued on earnestly, as if that was any kind of worry. “I can handle him. You just….” He moved closer. “You have to leave, before we forget the consequences.”

His eyes went half-lidded as he leaned in towards her for a kiss. Then his body tensed, and she knew he was about to pull away and spout some bitter comment about how they could never be together. Oh, no, none of that. She put her hands on his chest and shoved him away.

“Time’s up,” she said, letting her anger come through in her voice. “And we’re staying. We’re not here for _you,_ Angel. Wesley called us in to help with Darla, and that’s what we’re going to do. Deal with it.”

Then she turned away from him and uncovered the teacup before taking out the infuser. Angel watched, gaping like a hooked fish, as she added two sugar cubes and a splash of milk. Apparently her words and actions had left him speechless. Good. She’d been tired of talking to him even before he’d opened his mouth.

Unfortunately, the non-talky didn’t last past her putting the cup of tea on a small tray and heading for the doorway. “Aren’t you going to drink that?”

Buffy glanced back at him. “It’s not for me.” He made a face like he’d unexpectedly bitten into something sour. She wondered if he was just now realizing all of the time and effort she’d put into making the tea instead of just throwing some bags into a mug of microwaved water. “Oh, and Angel? Any more comments about Spike being figuratively castrated and you’re going to find out what it’s like to be _literally_ castrated.”

Then she walked away, leaving him slack-jawed and bewildered.

 

**…**

 

Spike flopped down on the surprisingly comfy bed in one of the rooms and lifted Thursday up over him. She squealed and giggled, limbs flailing all about as he swayed her from side to side while making _whooshing_ noises. Didn’t take much to make everything right in her world. Once the danger was past, everything was all puppies and Christmas. He was much the same, honestly, but in this case, he was still out of sorts. If he’d been just a second slower, or if Darla hadn’t hesitated….

He shuddered and lowered Thursday until he was holding her against his chest. Such a warm, sweet little thing, and he could have lost her. He kissed her, and she “baa”ed and “buh”ed at him affectionately. The tension and anger had no chance of surviving that, of course. They should just bottle essence of sprog and spray it all about the world. No more violence or strife with everyone feeling all warm and fuzzy while grinning like idiots. ‘Course, that would make things right boring, it would.

“Not that I’d notice, now would I, love?” he murmured. “Be too hopped up on the scent of the sweetest, cutest little snoogy-woogy ev-”

There was a slight sound from the doorway. Bloody hell, Fred was still stood there, wasn’t she? For a moment, embarrassment tried to raise its ugly head. _Bugger that,_ he thought, sitting up and settling Thursday comfortably in his lap. He was the father of the cutest sprog in the world (though she’d soon have to share that title with her sister) and sometimes he talked to her in daft baby drivel. Nothing wrong with that.

“Did you need something, pet?” he asked.

“You’re a vampire.” It was said very matter-of-factly, with no apparent judgement or recriminations.

“Noticed that, did you?”

“Well, I _am_ a scientist,” Fred said with a slight smile. Girl was a bit of alright, wasn’t she? “We tend to be more observant than most, as long as we aren’t wrapped up in a project.” The smile faltered, and she looked nervous, but he was pretty sure it had nothing to do with him. “You’re a vampire, and Buffy’s a vampire slayer. It seems like she’s known you from before the microchip. Doesn’t that mean the two of you have….”

“What? Tried to kill each other?” he asked, head tilted as he studied her. “Bit of an odd question, innit? Something like that happen between you and the ex-watcher?”

Her eyes widened slightly and her cheeks pinkened at the question. “Oh, th-there’s nothing going on with me and Wesley.”

“But you want there to be,” he said, fairly certain of it. She looked like he’d smacked her in the gob with a fish. It was kind of cute. “Not a scientist or anything, but I’ve bit of a knack for noticing the bleeding obvious. So, what happened?” At her hesitation, he added, “I’m betting your mates already know, and the lot I run with down in Sunnydale probably wouldn’t give a toss if I told ‘em. Which I won’t.”

He listened as Fred spilled the story about Billy Blim. He pulled out his keys at one point to jingle in front of an increasingly wriggly Thursday, but other than that, she’d his full attention. It was a sad tale. Fred and Wesley getting ever closer, only to have it all blown to hell by a half demon with the power to infect people with his raging misogyny. Fred didn’t blame Wesley for anything he’d done under the influence – including trying to kill her – but the poor bugger apparently blamed himself. The poet in Spike wanted to write a sodding ballad about it all, but he was able to appease and suppress it with a promise of a sonnet or two about Buffy.

“With Buffy and me,” he said once Fred was finished, “was a different dynamic. We started out as natural enemies, but there had always been a bit of a spark between us. This thing with you and Wes, though? Completely different. He was forced into feeling things that weren’t part of him, and he acted on them. You’re going to have to draw him out of it. Make him deal with it and don’t let him shut you out.”

The whole thing sounded a lot like what Buffy had gone through with their first encounter with the fertility ritual. An outside force getting inside and twisting you all up. Spike shuddered at the thought. That hadn’t exactly been the most pleasant experience ever for him, but at least he’d still been in control of himself.

“Oh, b-but, he wants to deal with it alone. He’s so shy. If I push….” She sounded like she wanted to, but was worried she’d push him away.

“Your instinct is to let him be right now, sort himself out and what all. But it won’t work. You want him? You’re gonna have to fight for him.”

“But –”

“Trust me on this.” He flashed her a charming smile as he cut her off, then curled his tongue behind his teeth. “You may’ve noticed from the incredibly sexy accent, but I’ve spent quite a bit of time across the pond. You want to get a stodgy Englishman out of his rut, you gotta force him out.”

She nodded slowly with a thoughtful look. “You’ve given me a lot to think about. But, uh, I should probably let you get settled.”

She smiled in thanks before slipping away. Spike hoped she’d take his advice. She was a good sort and deserved happiness. And speaking of happiness…. He smiled as Buffy slipped in through the still open door with a cup of tea and sat beside him. Warm, squirmy sprog in his arms and a beautiful woman who loved him by his side. He’d found his happiness, and nothing was going to take it away.

 

**…**

 

Cordelia staggered back as pain and images flashed through her mind. _People fighting in the lobby of the hotel. Cages set up, labeled “baby” and “mother”. That bitch Lilah from Wolfram & Hart holding Thursday. Spike locked up in a room, banging on the door while a baby cried. _


	6. Chapter 6

Visions, prophecies, slayer dreams. How come none of them could ever just flat out tell you what you needed to know? If Buffy wanted riddles and puzzles, she could get that playing one of the video games Xander kept bringing to the house to play with Spike. She didn’t need a bunch of cryptic crap when the wrong move could end with her man and baby in the clutches of uber evil lawyers. Should she send them away, or keep them close? Either could be what put them in danger, which is why, instead of making a concrete decision, she was at a local bar and grill with her family and Team Angel.

Buffy sighed and stared at her menu without really seeing it. She never should have come to L.A., and now it was too late to just bow out. Spike and Thursday were on Wolfram & Hart’s radar for some reason, and if they all just went back home, they’d always be looking over their shoulders. They had to get things taken care of. ASAP.

There was a small sound from beside her. Soft and breathy, almost a moan, full of desire, of intense _want_ , and it seemed to sizzle through her ears and straight to her groin. She swallowed hard and turned to look at Spike. His lips were parted slightly, eyes almost glazed as he stared at his menu like he was seriously considering making love to it.

Buffy leaned in against him to get a look at what had caught his attention, shivering slightly at the feel of his body. Oh. Oh, yeah, that explained it. She swallowed again, trying to banish the thought of hot, wild sex while she hand-fed him bacon cheddar ranch fries covered in onion petals and volcano sauce. She could drizzle the spicy stuff all over him and lick it…. No, no. Bad Buffy brain. None of that. Not in front of Angel, Darla, and the others. And definitely not with Thursday watching them from the highchair she was sitting in next to Spike.

Unfortunately, clearing her mind of that yummy mental image left room for the memory of the time she’d caught Spike practically giving a can of pineapples oral. Oh god, what they’d done after that. Spike painting lines of moisture along her inner thighs with a chunk of fruit and oh so slowly lapping it up with that wicked, wicked tongue….

“Why are you even looking at a menu?” Angel asked suddenly, the annoyed whine in his voice hitting Buffy like a bucket of ice water. Ugh. “Vampires don’t eat.” That got a flat _oh really?_ look that made Angel squirm a little before declaring, “I’m not paying for anything for you.”

Spike’s hands tightened slightly on the menu, but Buffy spoke up before he could say anything. “No one asked you to pay for us, Angel. It takes a lot to satisfy a slayer, and I wouldn’t want to put that burden on you.”

There was part of her that was embarrassed by her own words, but mostly, she was tired of putting up with Angel’s bullshit for the night. She wanted to pound it into his thick head that she didn’t belong to him. She was her own woman, damn it, not some kind of prize that was supposed to be sitting pretty on a pedestal somewhere for him to look at from time to time.

Angel’s eyes narrowed, but instead of commenting on the obvious, he went with something else. “You shouldn’t be wasting your mother’s or Giles’s money just because Spike has a weird fetish for human food.”

Her mother’s or Giles’s…. Ugh. Did he seriously think she’d gone begging to mommy or her watcher to fund this nightmare of a trip? Spike twitched slightly beside her, and she rested her hand on his thigh, gently squeezing. She appreciated him being upset on her behalf, but she had this.

“Not like it’s actually any of your business, Angel,” Cordelia pointed out with an eye roll from her seat beside him.

The post-vision headache didn’t seem to be bothering her as much anymore, which was much of the good. Cordelia seemed to have matured since high school, and it suited her nicely. Maybe later they could bond over totally mature woman shopping or something. But not right now. Right now, Buffy had to deal with an overbearing ex being all overbearing and exy. 

“Yeah, well, good thing I have my own money.” Not that Giles or her mom would actually have objected to funding Spike getting what he needed to make sure both he and the baby stayed strong and healthy, but that wasn’t the point of this conversation. “Considering I’m getting it because I’m out there all the time, risking my butt to stop the things that go bumpy in the night, I kinda have a right to spend it however I want.”

“They’re paying you for the whole slayer thing, now?” Cordelia asked while disbelief and disgust chased each other across Angel’s face. “Good for you. You would not _believe_ how hard it was to get Angel to charge clients for our help. Helping the hopeless is great and all, but it doesn’t just magically make the bills go away.”

“Amen to that,” Gunn muttered without looking up from his own menu.

“It’s the Watcher’s Council footing the bill in my case,” Buffy said. She would have problems charging the people she helped, too, but she wasn’t going to bring that up.

“Huh, do you think they’d comp me if I sent in a log of all the hours I put in for the cause back in high school?”

“Not terribly likely, I’m afraid, Cordelia,” Wesley said, joining in the conversation. “The Council has been considering providing monetary compensation to the Slayer since the seventies and they’ve only now begun actually doing it. I’m actually rather surprised they’re finally following through.”

Buffy snorted at that. “They’re following through with it because I showed them who was boss and _made_ them follow through.”

Angel’s expression tightened at that, and he shot Spike a dirty look. It said louder than words that he blamed the other vampire for whatever bug had crawled up his butt and died. Did he _want_ her broke and dependent on others for her livelihood? It sure as hell seemed like it. Like he wanted her dependent on her mother and watcher and swooning into his arms whenever they were near each other. That really didn’t sound like love. Not how she’d come to know it.

“As fascinating as all this is,” Darla piped in sarcastically, “don’t you think we should be focused less on the slayer’s finances and more on this _thing_ inside of me!”

She seemed to have gotten past the hysterics and was back to being bitchy. Though maybe slightly less bitchy. And there were shadows in her eyes, now that she couldn’t deny some of what she was feeling anymore. She was late stage pregnant and dealing with a soul again after all the horrible things she’d done. Despite that, Buffy really didn’t feel all that sorry for the bitch.

They’d figured out Spike was being influenced by Thursday’s soul because he’d felt terrible about accidentally breaking a woman’s arm. Darla had tried to eat a baby (and remembering _that_ made Buffy’s staking hand all itchy) and all the soul had done was make her hesitate. It seemed like the personality the soul was meshed with mattered just as much as the soul itself. Maybe more. People with souls did awful things all the time.

Buffy’s musings were cut off by the waitress bringing their drinks and asking if they were all ready to order yet. After pointedly telling the woman she and Spike were together on a ticket, she ordered two appetizers – an onion flower and the spicy loaded fries Spike had been lusting over – along with a bacon triple cheeseburger with fries for herself and a nice, rare steak for her vampire.

Small talk reigned for the most part while they waited, Cordelia and Spike getting into a conversation about the latest fashions with Buffy adding in her two cents from time to time. It was good to see him interacting with people and being his usual animated and at least a little flirty self. The guilt still clawed at him sometimes and he was prone to nightmares, but for the most part, he’d adjusted to his soul. He hadn’t become someone new. He was just Spike. With a little more depth.

“We could, perhaps, take Darla to the Host,” Wesley suggested after their food had been brought to the table. He looked towards Angel. “If she were to sing for Lorne, he might be able to give us some answers.”

“There’s also that prophecy we’re still working on deciphering,” Fred added.

“Prophecy?” Buffy repeated in dismay. She hated prophecies. They were always all with the “you’re going to die” and never enough details. And that led to your boyfriend making lame excuses about why he didn’t bother to try CPR. “There’s a prophecy?”

“A tricky one,” Fred confirmed. “Even figuring out the timeline is kind of squirrelly. There’s a good chance it has something to do with Darla and Angel’s baby, but one interpretation says the big apocalyptic thing should have come back in Mar-” She trailed off, looking speculatively at Thursday, like she was counting back the months.

Spike snorted in amusement. “Yeah, she was born in March, but she’s not the source of your sodding apocalypse.” He scooped up a finger full of mashed potatoes and ran it through some of the blood from his steak before offering it to Thursday. “Come on now, bitty bit, open up for num-nums. That’s a good girl. Closest she’s ever come to causing the end of the world was when her Auntie Dawn tried to flush one of her nappies down the loo.”

Thursday gurgle-squealed in delight, deeming the new flavor combination both acceptable and her royal due. She opened her mouth wide, making demanding little “aaah, aaah, aaah” noises that translated to “why isn’t there food in my mouth? There should be food in my mouth. Right now!”

Buffy tried to focus on this whole prophecy thing, and not on Spike gleefully calling Thursday “daddy’s little piggy” while making adorable oinking noises at her and feeding her more blood-soaked mashed potatoes.

“Okay, so there’s a prophecy. What’s it about?” she asked.

“The arising, or possibly birth, of the Tro-clan, which can be either a destroyer or a purifier,” Wesley said.

“Or even something else, if it has a different meaning in a language we haven’t cross-referenced yet,” Fred added with enthusiasm. Good for her. All this stuff gave Buffy a headache. “It’s kind of like a puzzle, really. Finding just the right meaning to make it all fit tog…. And, uh, you probably don’t care about that, do you?”

Buffy gave her an apologetic smile. “Yeah, no, not so much.”

“What about this Lorne fella you mentioned?” Spike asked as he pulled Thursday out of her highchair to cuddle her. “What was all that about Darla singing for ‘im?”

“Demon, but one of the good guys,” Gunn said, finally joining the conversation. “Some people I ran with busted up his place, but I’ve heard rumors that he’s rebuilding.”

“He can read emotions and the most likely path of one’s destiny,” Wesley explained, “but only when he hears someone sing.”

“He’s had to hear the great poof sing, then, has he?” Spike asked. “Poor sod.” He shook his head in sympathy and ignored Angel’s indignant protest. “Just be glad you never had to hear him quackin’ along to Barry Manilow.” There was an awkward silence, and no one would quite look at Angel or meet Spike’s eyes.“Really? Just cruel and unusual, that. Used to do it all the time at that bloody mansion back in Sunnydale, but that was when he was all soulless. Didn’t think he was still into that kind of torture with a soul all stuffed up his arse again. Anyway, enough on that, seems like –”

“B-b-baaa-buh-buuu!” Thursday cut in, adding her vital two cents.

“Think you’re going to sing for the demon, do you, love?” Spike cuddled the squirmy girl closer and kissed her on the temple. “Seems to me that taking Darla to this bloke _and_ researching this prophecy would be the best idea. Maybe give old Rupes a call and see if he can help with the translations and the like.”

“Is it safe at Lorne’s place?” Buffy asked. If it was, it could be a good place to stash Spike and Thursday. And speaking of Spike and Thursday…. His whole separation anxiety issue after what Dru did to him was one thing, but right now, Spike was straight up hogging the baby. Buffy made gimme motions, and he handed their giggly, wiggly daughter over. “If it is, we can maybe set up there. I just need to go back to the hotel to pick up some things after everyone else gets settled.”

“I’ll go with you,” Angel said immediately. “I can gather up the prophecy and research books along with a few weapons.”

Spike tensed at that, and Buffy herself wasn’t exactly keen on the idea of going to the hotel with Angel either. But it _was_ his hotel, after all, so she couldn’t exactly forbid him from going there at the same time she did. She gently pressed her leg against Spike’s to get his attention.

“I need you and Thursday safe,” she said quietly. “Please, Spike.” He didn’t relax, but he did nod jerkily, which was going to have to be good enough. Buffy looked over at Angel. “Fine. We’ll get them to Lorne’s, then go to the hotel together to get what we need.”

 

**…**

 

Angel’s hands were tight enough on the steering wheel as he drove that his knuckles would have gone white if he’d been human. He was in his car with Buffy while most of the others were in the DeSoto, Wes leading the way to Lorne’s on his motorcycle. He knew he should be focused on the prophecy and on Darla and her impossible pregnancy, but he couldn’t seem to stop thinking about Buffy. Or about some of the things he’d noticed.

Buffy had been unusually protective of Spike. Not just of the baby, but of _Spike_. Who hadn’t lit up a single cigarette all night, despite being practically a chain smoker. He hadn’t indulged in any other vices, either, drinking soda with his meal instead of anything alcoholic. Buffy had been pretty damn insistent about that meal, and he’d seen her passing something to Spike that had looked an awful lot like a couple of vitamins.

He didn’t want to be thinking what he was thinking. He didn’t want to be imagining Spike and Buffy doing that ritual together, but he couldn’t seem to stop. Pale flesh intertwined with sun-kissed gold. He’d touched them both. God…. He shuddered at the memories. He’d been gentle with Buffy, treating her like the fragile treasure she was, but Spike…. Thank god Dru hadn’t brought him home until after she’d turned him. It would have been so much worse if he’d done those things to an actual person.

He wasn’t ready to admit his suspicions – suspicions that had been pretty much confirmed when he’d deliberately caught Spike’s scent – so he stayed silent as he drove to the hotel. And he stayed silent as he and Buffy got out of the car and walked up to the door. But once they were inside, he couldn’t hold back anymore.

“I know what’s going on,” he said abruptly. Buffy turned to look at him like she had no idea what he was talking about. Maybe she didn’t. As much as he loved her, she could be a little slow at times. “I know what you did. I know Spike’s pregnant again. My god, Buffy, what were you _thinking_?”

“What was I thinking?” she repeated incredulously. “Oh, I don’t know, maybe that mine and Spike’s reproductive choices are no one else’s damn business!”

“You already have _one_ dangerous little hybrid baby – have you even thought about what it’s going to be like when she starts kindergarten? – and you’re bringing another one into the world?” She was such a child sometimes, and Spike wasn’t much better. Had she even talked it over with her mother or Giles first? Did she understand exactly what it was she was trying to do. He took a step towards her and spelled it out. “Getting Spike pregnant again with the So’voriku ritual so he’d be influenced by the baby’s soul isn’t going to turn him into me. It isn’t going to make the two of you _us_.”

 

**…**

 

Buffy stared at Angel for a second, unable to believe what she’d just heard. Could he _be_ any more condescending and full of himself? Ugh. Had he always been like this?

“There is no _us_ , Angel,” she said harshly. “There will never again be an _us_ , and it has nothing to do with your curse, or even with Spike. What was there between us? What, exactly, did we have?”

Other than him slowly and carefully programming her to think of him as her one true love. Programming that had lingered in her psyche like a poison even though she'd finally found the man who fit her perfectly, warts and all. She was pretty sure that programming was broken now. When she looked at him, the ghost of her old feelings didn't even stir, and she was glad of it. She felt free, like she'd shed some horrible weight keeping her pinned down.

“Buffy, the attraction between –”

“No,” she cut him off. Sex, sex, sex. He’d supposedly left her because they couldn’t have sex, like that was the end-all, be-all of a relationship. Some of the sweetest moments between her and Spike had been during the time when his sex drive had been pretty non-existent due to late term pregnancy. They’d just held each other a lot. “Not attraction. Attraction doesn't make a relationship. Think about it, Angel. About how it _really_ was, not how we imagined it was. Except for a few really awkward exceptions, our ‘dates’ were basically just patrolling while trying to think of things to say to each other. And it was hard, because we really don't have that much in common, do we?”

“That's not true,” Angel protested.

“What’s your favorite music?” she demanded.

“Barry Manilow,” he answered immediately.

“That's not a type of music, it's just one guy.” She shook her head and waved it off. She should have expected it, considering what Spike had said at dinner. “What about dancing? We slow danced a couple of times, but what about the fast stuff? I love the fast stuff. Would you dance with me like that?”

Angel got a deer-in-the-headlights look at that. “I…. No, I don't… I don't do fast dances. But that shouldn't matter.”

“You're right,” she agreed. “It's just a little thing, but you know, all the little things add up. Here's a big one, though; what would we have to talk about? Music is out, since you don't even have a style you like, apparently. What about movies or TV shows?”

“I… don't really watch a lot of TV. Just, uh, hockey.”

“So that's another thing we couldn’t really talk about. What about makeup? Women’s fashions? Modern era books and plays? Could we tease each other and be silly, or would it always just be the long, smoldering looks and heavy intensity? That's nice sometimes, and I get a lot of that with Spike, but it's really uncomfortable if that's all there is to a relationship.”

He looked at a complete loss, mouth opening and closing while nothing came out for a moment. “I… Buffy….”

“No,” she said, cutting him off. “This conversation is _over_. _We_ are over.”

And with that, she turned her back on him and started to collect the things she’d left behind.


	7. Chapter 7

He’d been in a funk since Caritas had been wrecked, but now that he was getting so close to reopening, Lorne was on cloud nine. He didn’t even care – too much, anyway – that Arnie was overcharging him and pretending to have problems so he could keep on doing it. Did the man not realize he hummed when he worked, or did he think Lorne could only read people when they flat out sang? Either way, Lorne was in a good mood, and he was going to let it slide for now.

In fact, he was in such a good mood that he was just about to send all the workers home for the day when Angel’s group, sans the brooding cupcake himself, burst through the door and tromped down the steps into his club. Oh boy. This did not bode well. Especially with the very impossibly pregnant vampire headed straight towards him.

“You!” she practically growled, grabbing him by the shirt. There was a wild look in her eyes, almost like a wildcat caught in a trap. Or some poor victim forced to listen to Angel butchering Mandy. “Oh, Danny Boy,” she yell-sang at him. “Tell me how to get this thing and its soul the hell out of me!”

Fuzzy images and feelings came to him, filtered through Darla from the mystery bun in her oven. There wasn’t much of a future there for mama, but that could mean anything from her getting dusted to just the kiddo being born. At that point, the soul wouldn’t be in her anymore.

“Whoa, yeah, we’re way beyond singing, honey,” Lorne said, getting himself loose. “How did this happen?”

“Angel boned her,” Cordelia snapped.

Eesh. She was one unhappy firecracker about that fact. Not that he could blame her. Angel and Darla? Very bad juju there. “A child born of two vampires? Woo boy, no telling what _that’s_ going to turn out to be.”

“Whatever it is,” Wesley said, “It’s alive and apparently has a soul.”

“Yeah, well, so do chaos demons,” Lorne pointed out, “and I wouldn’t want to invite one home. Though to be fair, that has more to do with the slime. Let me tell you, there is _no_ getting that out of the carpet.”

“Good, bad, ugly, I. Don’t. _Care_!” Darla snarled as she paced restlessly. “I just want it ou-” She broke off with a wince of pain and put a hand against her lower back.

“Is there somewhere she can rest?” Cordelia asked.

“Yeah, of course, she can use my….” He stopped, his attention suddenly grabbed by the pure, musical sound of a baby’s giggle. There she was, being held by the scrumptious bit of beefcake who had slipped in with the others. “There’s a room set up for employees if they need to crash.”

Cordelia gave him a look, no doubt catching his change there. A baby in hand trumped one in the oven, though, as probably no one had ever said. It was a good saying though. He’d have to remember it.

“It has both a bed and a comfy armchair,” he said, pointing the way.

“Charles, maybe you should go with them,” the little bird they’d rescued from his home dimension suddenly chirped as Cordelia led Darla towards the room.

“Good idea,” the man said, eyes narrowing slightly. “Maybe she’s feelin’ that soul a little better now that she knows it’s there, but she _did_ try to eat a baby. And when that didn’t work out, she snacked on Spike here.” He pointed to the vampire with the baby.

“Gee, thanks for the concern,” Darla drawled, “but I’m actually full now. The more the merrier, I guess. You never know when I might want another snack.”

“Bitch ought to still be in chains,” Spike muttered in an absolutely delicious accent.

If the little princess’s emotions were to be believed – and Lorne for one made it a rule to never doubt a baby – that was Mama she was being snuggled by, very obvious maleness be damned. Which meant Darla wasn’t the first vampire to survive the beginning stages of a mystical pregnancy. He’d heard vague rumors about someone getting a vampire all the way through one caused by the So’voriku fertility ritual, but hadn’t really believed it. It looked like he had the proof right here in his club.

“Yeah, well, we didn’t bring the chains with us,” Cordelia said. “Maybe Angel will think of it if he isn’t too busy boinking his other ex and risking his soul.” She stomped off into the employee room at that, with Darla and Gunn right behind.

Spike looked like he’d been slapped in the face with a trout, then stabbed right through his non-beating heart with it. Poor crumpet. Baby girl picked up his distress enough that she started fussing, but that was soon put to rights by Spike humming her a lullaby.

Lorne froze, feeling like he’d been walloped with that same fish, though it was a surprise thing in his case. He was looking at one order of vampire with a soul, hold the curse. And a sweet soul it was, at that. A good man settled in with a demon, both working towards being the best they could. It would seriously make a fantastic movie.

He shook off the thought to focus on Wesley and Fred. “Okay, you guys wanna give me the four-one-one here? Because I’m feeling a bit in the dark.” He made his way towards Spike and held his arms out. “Can I hold her? Promise I’ll give her right back as soon as you ask.”

Spike hesitated, but the little girl babbled happily and reached towards him while staring intently at his nose like it was the most magnificent thing she had ever seen. Lorne waggled his brows. “What can I say, the ladies all love me.”

That got a snort and a slight smile, followed by the baby being passed over to him. “Careful,” Spike warned. “She’s stronger than she looks.”

“There’s a prophecy about the arising or birth of the Tro-clan,” Wesley began to explain. “It could be either a destroyer or a purifier and is very likely to be Darla and Angel’s child. There’s also, uh, a chance it may be her.” He inclined his head towards the little snugglepoo in Lorne’s arms.

Lorne readjusted the precious little bundle of possibilities as she tried to grab his nose. She got distracted by her own hand as it entered her field of vision and squealed happily. She was too new for him to really read her most likely path, though there were some dark possibilities involving that law firm Angel had been so obsessed with. If she made it through that, though, the little lady was free and clear to choose her own life. Closest thing she had to a destiny was the good chance she’d end up part of a retro punk band in her teens.

“Oh, no, no, no,” he said, bouncing the baby a little. “You aren’t some big nasty Tro-clan, are you, darling?” He looked back at Wesley. “She really isn’t. Baby laughter is pretty much music. If she was your prophesied boogle, I’d have sensed it.”

“Told you Thursday wasn’t your bloody Tro-clan,” Spike grumbled, reaching out for the baby.

Poor cupcake. He looked a bit frayed around the edges. How much blood had Darla drained from him, anyway? Based on the flashes Lorne had gotten from the humming, it hadn’t been enough to harm the little sister Spike had brewing for Thursday. He definitely looked like he could use a rest, though.

Lorne gave the baby a kiss on the forehead before giving her back. “Thursday, huh? Good name. She has far to go in life.”

The vampire grinned at that and started to say something, but Fred jumped in at that point.

“Cordelia had a vision. Some people are coming for Darla, Spike, and Thursday. That’s part of why we’re here. They need someplace safe while we work more on figuring out the prophecy.”

“Here?” Lorne didn’t even try to keep the dismay out of his voice. “The little princess and her daddy are welcome to stay as long as they need to, but you want me to let _Darla_ stay? The wicked bitch of the west and carrier of your possible destroyer? Nu-uh. Not happening.”

“But –”

“When Angel gets here, find someplace else to stash her,” he said, cutting Fred off.

He put a hand on Spike’s shoulder and started steering him towards his room, pausing for a moment to look at the workers, who had all either been ignoring things or just pretending really well. “That’s a wrap, guys. Head on home. Vamoose. Get the hell out.” He looked at Arnie as the man began to gather his stuff. “Except for you. I want the security systems up and running within the hour.”

“Lorne, I told you –”

Lorne held up his hand in a stopping motion. “I don’t want to hear it. You hum when you work, so I know you’re scamming me.” Spike stiffened beside him. “Don’t worry, shortcake. Unless it’s about the end of the world, I don’t kiss and tell when it comes to my readings.” He focused back on Arnie. “Get it working, or I’ll spread the word that you can’t be trusted, capiche?”

He had the feeling they were going to need all of the club’s protections up and running as soon as possible.

 

**…**

 

 _Boinking his other ex and risking his soul._ The words wriggled through Spike’s mind like poisonous worms as he followed Lorne into a fairly posh little living space. He knew that Buffy loved him. He _knew_ it. But then, he’d known the same of Drusilla, and how many times had he found her with Angelus, skirts around her ears as her precious “daddy” ploughed her senseless?

He dropped down to sit on the bed and laid Thursday down on her back. She immediately rolled over onto her hands and knees and trundled towards the edge. Before he could snag her away from it, Lorne sang wordlessly at her, which stopped her in her tracks.

“Told her that going over the edge would hurt,” the green demon explained.

“Nifty trick, that. Don’t suppose there’s any way you can convince her little sis to lay off on the cravings for greasy potato products? You’ve any idea how hard it is to find a place that serves a decent order of chips at three in the bloody morning in Sunnydale?”

“Sorry, crumpet,” Lorne said with a slight smile. “Pretty sure she doesn’t have ears yet.”

“Didn’t think so, but was worth a shot, yeah?” he said with an answering smile. It faded away as the memory of Angel and Buffy making googly eyes at each other back in the day invaded his mind. “Did…when I was hummin’ earlier, did you happen to, uh, see anything with a pretty blond woman? A real scrapper. Vampire slayer, and this one’s,” he scooped Thursday into his arms, “and her sis’s mum.”

“I usually don’t get a lot if it’s not a full blown song,” Lorne said apologetically. “But I did see that woman a lot. I think she’s going to be part of your life for a good long time.” He patted Spike on the back. “Thursday’s a smart kid, she’ll stay away from the edges, so you can get some rest.”

Then he left the room, leaving Spike alone with his thoughts and wiggly little sprog. He sighed and let Thursday loose to crawl about on the bed. He stood up, shrugging out of his coat before stretching out on the bed. _She doesn’t love that tosser anymore,_ he reminded himself. _She doesn’t…_.

Images of Dru and Angelus together danced through his head. Buffy and Angel making mooneyes at each other while claiming to just be friends. Angelus’s soft and persuasive words whispered into his own ear, making him feel…. Spike shuddered and forced it all away. He loved Buffy, and she loved him. And he was bloody well _worthy_ of that love. No matter what anyone else thought. No matter what Angel….

God, he was tired, the few short naps he’d managed had actually made him groggier. His eyes slid closed, dropping him into uneasy dreams until a warm, familiar body curled along his back, her strong arms holding him tight. Still half asleep, he turned to face her, burying his face against her breasts. He drifted back down with the scent of milk and Buffy and nothing else.

 

**…**

 

Cordelia sat in the armchair, watching as Darla tossed and turned on the bed, trying to get comfortable. Cordy knew how she felt. Her back ached in sympathy as she remembered the time she’d woken up heavily pregnant. She still remembered going to the hospital and finding out there were like, six or seven demon babies all crammed inside of her. The hospital… huh. Why the hell hadn’t they thought of that before?

“You said you went to a bunch of shamans, but did you ever go to a hospital?” she asked.

“Yeah, I just moseyed into the pregnant vampire ward of the local ER,” Darla answered sarcastically.

“What exactly are you thinking of, Cordy?” Gunn asked from where he was leaning against the wall, ignoring Darla.

Before Cordelia could respond, the door opened, and Angel came in with a thermos. “We stopped by some contact of Buffy’s to get human blood.”

“She can drink it on the way,” she said, standing up.

Angel frowned in confusion. “On the way to where?”

“The hospital. You want to know what’s inside of Darla? Screw all these stupid prophecies and visions. All we have to do is sneak in and use an ultrasound machine.”


	8. Chapter 8

_Snuggly vampires_ , Buffy thought as she petted the head buried between her breasts, _are kinda like teddy bears._ Room temperature and all huggable and stuff. Though this particular vampire was all nice and firmly muscled instead of squishy like a teddy bear. She’d intended to give Spike a thermos full of the human blood she’d picked up from Magda, but when she’d seen him curled up on his side on Lorne’s bed, she hadn’t been able to resist cuddling. She sighed in contentment and slid her hand under his shirt to caress his back. Mmm. Silky smooth over steel.  And all hers to play with, if she wanted.

 _Buffy very want._ Before she could do anything with that thought, there was loud, insistent baby-babble in her ear and a sharp tug at her hair. Time to put away her sexy girlfriend hat and put on the mommy hat. She kissed the top of Spike’s head, then carefully squirmed away from him while freeing her hair from Thursday’s grip.

“Aww, does baby have a case of the hungries?” Buffy asked as she sat up on the bed and pulled Thursday into her arms. Until the first time she’d held her daughter, she hadn’t realized that was what arms were for. Nothing felt as right in them as a baby.

“B-b-b-b. Bah- _ah-_ uhn! Buh-buh. Un-ah-ihn.”

“Think that means yes, love,” Spike mumbled, scooching close enough to rest his head in her lap – face nuzzled up under her turtleneck to press against her bare skin – before falling back asleep. She wasn’t really sure if he’d even actually woken up.

 _He’s fine,_ she told herself firmly. So what if it was nighttime and he should be wide awake right now? He’d been munched on, and he’d vamped out when he fought Darla, bringing the demonic energy that kept him “alive” closer to the surface and easier for the new baby to drain. And then there was the fact that there was all kinds of stuff going on in his body that it wasn’t really designed for. Of _course_ he was tired.

Thursday screeched unhappily and whacked Buffy in the chest hard enough to make her wince. “Sorry, kiddo,” she said, shifting her daughter around so she could lift up one side of her shirt and open up one of the cups on her nursing bra. They were total pros now, so the baby was contentedly suckling away within moments.

Buffy took a deep breath and released it, letting all of the tension float away on a cloud of hormones. Asking Tara for help so she could nurse Thursday had seriously been one of the best decisions she’d ever made.

She took another deep breath and started sorting things out in her mind. She’d finish getting Thursday fed, then wake Spike up so _he_ could be fed. Get Thursday into a fresh diaper before putting her down to sleep, and then…. The door suddenly burst open, derailing Buffy’s train of thought and waking Spike.

“Buffy, we’re taking Darla… to… the….” Angel trailed off, staring at Buffy’s chest.

Nothing was actually showing, and she’d nursed Thursday in front of Xander and even Giles hundreds of times without even thinking about it. But the way Angel was staring at her made her feel like she was doing something obscene. Like she should apologize and quickly cover herself.

“You ever hear of bloody knocking?” Spike griped, sitting up and glaring while Buffy sat frozen for a moment.

Then anger thawed her out. She was feeling all ooky because Angel was being a creep, not because she was doing anything wrong. Nursing was natural and normal (that thing Angel was always insisting she needed), and he’d been the one to just barge in without, as Spike had pointed out, even bothering to knock.

“To the what?” she snapped, drawing attention back to what Angel had started to say. “The dog park? Good idea.”

“No, we’re not taking her to a dog park,” Angel said, sounding annoyed at the suggestion. He turned away a little and put a hand over his eyes. “We’re…. Look, could you just....” He peeked at her from between his fingers, then looked away again. “I’m trying to talk to you here.”

“Then quit with the bloody foreplay and get on with the main event, already,” Spike grumbled.

Buffy sighed and shifted Thursday enough to have a free hand that she could put on Spike’s shoulder. He was all bad-moody, and she didn’t know if it was from being woken up, mood swings, or just having to deal with Angel. Maybe a combination of all three. It didn’t really matter what the cause. Spike was feeling bitchy and Angel was acting like a nine-year-old, leaving her to be the calm, reasonable one. Damn it. At least the nursing hormones were helping with that.

“If you want to talk, then talk,” she said. “You’re the one who barged in here while I was feeding my kid. She’s hungry and she doesn’t like being covered while she eats. We’re not inconveniencing her just because you can’t be a grown-up about the fact that the lunchboxes attached to my chest aren’t for you.”

Angel tensed at that, his jaw clenching like he was barely holding back from saying something. Then he let his hand drop away from his face, but still wouldn’t look at her. Just as well. It was time to switch boobs, and there was no way he’d be able to politely ignore the brief flash of nipple. She almost felt sorry for him. He was still hung up on her, and here he was, confronted with barely out of sight Buffy boobs. It had to be kind of tortury, but, well, maybe that would teach him to knock before barging in on people.

“Talk or leave,” she said once Thursday was switched over.

“Cordy had the idea of sneaking into a hospital with Darla and using an ultrasound machine,” Angel finally said. “Once we get a look at what’s inside her, we’re taking her to Cordelia’s apartment.”

 _What’s inside her._ Like he expected it to be some kind of two-headed duck monster or something. If what Buffy had seen in the trance was to be believed, it had looked like a normal human baby with nothing inherently evil about it. Just a lot of magical protections.

“Okay,” Buffy said after a few moments of Angel just standing there in awkward silence. “Did you need us along for this? ‘Cause, honestly, the fewer people around to see the ultrasound, the better.”

He may have been all denial guy about the baby, but she didn’t think that would last much past the ultrasound. It was special, seeing that first image of your baby, even if it looked kind of weird. Buffy wished she’d realized that with Thursday and had made it something just between her and Spike (and, well, Ben, since he’d known how to use the machine) instead of dragging Willow along in an attempt at reconciliation. Spike’s hand found her knee and gently squeezed, reminding her that he’d long ago forgiven her for that mistake.

Angel glanced at her with a confused frown before looking away again. “No, I don’t think we’ll need you for this. I just… wanted you to know where we’d be.”

“Now we do,” she said evenly. She could feel Spike beside her, practically vibrating with the need to let loose some snarky comment. He didn’t. To her relief, he let her handle it. “Goodnight, Angel.”

His face tightened at the obvious dismissal, but he didn’t say anything. Just nodded jerkily as he turned and grabbed the doorknob, leaving it slightly deformed as he left the room.

 

**…**

 

Angel wasn’t thinking of Darla or the impossible, probably evil pregnancy as he drove towards the hospital with her, Cordelia, and Wes in his convertible. He was thinking of Buffy, sitting there on the edge of the bed, exposed except for the baby hiding her from his sight. God help him, how he’d wanted her. To have her put the baby aside so he could be the one with her flesh in his mouth.

And he was thinking of that moment, just as he’d gone into the room, when Spike’s head had been in her lap. Then the younger vampire had been awake, sitting beside her all sleep tousled and…. Angel had been jealous. Of them both, because at that moment, he’d _wanted_ them both. To touch and taste and dominate and….

“Angel!” Cordelia’s shout brought him back to reality just in time for him to slam on the brakes before he plowed into the car in front of him at the red light. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

“Sorry,” he said, voice shaky.

He closed his eyes for a moment and took a deep, shuddering breath. Buffy was in town, and she was in an unhealthy, degrading relationship with a muzzled beast who could never love her as much as Angel did. Spike was taking advantage of her, worming his way into her life for his own sick amusement and corrupting her along the way.

And she was too kind-hearted to realize it. She was pretending Spike was Angel as she used him to forget what they’d had. The purity of it. The purity of _herself_.

Whatever it took, Angel was going to help her remember who she was, who _they_ were. But for right now, he had to keep his head in the game.

 

**…**

 

Pale hands, callused from both the pen and brawl, slowly caressed sun-kissed flesh, tracing the familiar curves and edges. He knew every inch of her now, after months of loving, devoted study. Could touch every spot the way it liked best. The stroke of fingertips, the firm pressure of palms, the whisper of his mouth against her skin.

Buffy filled Spike’s senses, like a fire kindling within his body, warming him with the heat of desire. The feel of her body beneath him, supple and strong. Strong enough to break him in two if she’d a mind to, the thought of which only excited him more. The sound of her heated breath and the sight of her breasts heaving with it. Her heartrate racing with passion and her eyes dark with it. And, god, the heady scent of her arousal, like candy on his tongue as he dipped down between her legs to worship his slayer the way she deserved.

“Spike,” she panted, tugging at him, pulling him away from her molten center and up towards her bared neck.

He kissed her pulse and held it gently between blunt, human teeth, dampening her throat with her own juices before letting go. “Not there,” he whispered raggedly against her heated skin. God, he wanted her. Wanted to be inside of her while her blood flowed into him. Her life. Her self. The vibrant essence of _her_. Of Buffy. “Not gonna hide this.” That’s why she’d worn the bloody turtleneck. So he could bite her without anyone seeing.

“Spike,” she whispered, distress starting to creep into her voice. “I’m not… It’s not like that….”

“S’okay, love,” he murmured, kissing his way along her collarbone, and then down, working his way to her breasts. He understood. It hadn’t been shame, just a desire to avoid drama. Much the same as him wanting it kept quiet about his soul. “Not gonna hide things. But doesn’t mean we can’t keep it private.”

He took her right breast into his mouth, sucking at it and drawing in the small amount left behind from Thursday’s last feed. She gasped as he gently bit down, whispering, “yes, oh god, yes!” That was permission enough. He shifted position and vamped, biting just hard enough to draw blood as he thrust his aching hardness into her tight warmth. Her body clenched, torn, he knew, between pleasure and pain for the instant before the euphoretic in his saliva hit, tipping the scales and sending her over the edge into completion.

 

**…**

 

Angel stared at the ultrasound image. A boy. Wes had said it was a healthy, normal little boy. It wasn’t a monster. It wasn’t some formless, horrible thing. He hadn’t wanted to believe it. Hell, he’d even tried at one point to convince himself it was a hysterical pregnancy and nothing real. But there it was. The image was weird and kind of alien, but it was also beautiful. It was... it was his son. His little baby boy. God…. He swallowed past a sudden lump in his throat. A son. He was…. He and Darla were having a son.

She made a soft sound from the table she was laying on, and Angel looked over at her. She was staring at the image too, and the look in her eyes…. They both knew now. Fear and wonder and an oily nausea roiled through Angel. This baby was real. And it was theirs.

 

**…**

 

Buffy checked on Thursday one last time before bed. Still snoozing away peacefully in her playpen. She leaned down to gently stroke the baby’s cheek, then turned away to climb back into the bed with Spike. He’d started sleeping on his side again recently, so she curled up along his back, her arm draped over him and her hand pressed to his still-flat belly. Just a couple more months and there would be a sexy baby bump for her to rub her “grubby little slayer paws” all over.

 _Mmmm. Definitely looking forward to tha-_ Her thought was cut off as Spike suddenly grabbed her wrist. _Oh shit!_ She tried to wiggle away, thinking he was having one of the episodes where he couldn’t tolerate being touched, but he just scooted back against her.

“Quit moving all about,” he mumbled sleepily. Then he moved her hand down, pressing her fingers against a spot just above his pelvis.

What was…? She blinked. Something felt different. A sort of firmness that wasn’t muscle. It was kind of like he had a little water balloon or something tucked inside. A water balloon….

“Hi, Aliena,” Buffy said softly, grinning like an idiot and unable to stop. Not that she really tried all that hard. Giddy joy bubbled through her. She’d known the ritual had worked, but here was physical proof that she could touch. She could feel it with her own hands.

She started to ask Spike how he had missed noticing that with Thursday, but the words died before she could voice them. He wouldn’t have missed that. He just hadn’t told her. She couldn’t even be angry about it, since they hadn’t really been on the best of terms at that point. He’d still been having panic attacks if she got too close, so of course he wouldn’t have shared something that would have made her all touchy feely.

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, pushing away thoughts of the past. It was over and done with. They couldn’t just hide it all away like it had never happened, but they could use the past to grow and heal and refuse to let it taint the present. She lightly rubbed the water balloony spot, letting the joy fill her once again. There she was. Their little girl.


	9. Chapter 9

The sound of his phone ringing pulled Spike out of a dream of standing about in line at a KFC. It had been too crowded and the menu up on the wall had been too buggering small to read. Odd dream, that, and had him practically salivating at the thought of fried chicken and those potato wedge things. Bloody pregnancy cravings.

He got up with a slight grumble about having to leave the warmth of his slayer and fished his phone out of his coat pocket. He knew, even before he checked the display, exactly who it was. Only one person would be calling his phone and not Buffy’s at this time of night. It was late morning where she was, but she knew the time differences and had enough consideration of others that she would have called later if this hadn’t been the time they’d agreed on. When he was likely to be awake and Buffy asleep.

“She’s still not ready to talk to you, Red,” he said instead of hello. It was always her first question. Should she call back later when Buffy was awake? Would Buffy want to speak with her?

“She never will be, will she?” Willow asked, sounding like she was fighting back tears. “None of them will.”

Spike sighed and rubbed at his eyes as he sat down on the edge of the bed. Truth be told, he’d rather not be talking to her either, after all she’d done. But glass houses and thrown stones and whatall.

“Who’d you try to call this time?”

She kept doing that. Every week, she was allowed two calls. Once a month, one of them was to her parents, who felt more frequent calls (from what they thought was a study abroad program rather than a magical prison) were a sign of neediness and attachment disorder. But the rest of the time, those calls were desperate attempts to apologize and make everything right again. At least she’d stopped trying to call Buffy after the last time, when he’d given her his number.

“Tara,” Willow answered in a small voice. “Last night before bed. She… she just said she wasn’t ready and hung up. She… uh, she didn’t sound happy.”

“You bodged things up right proper,” he reminded her bluntly. “And not just with Tara.”

“I know that. But, but it wasn’t _all_ my fault. The arm….”

Bloody hell, was she still on about that? “Stop right there. One more word about that, and I’ll be hanging on up on you, too.”

“Bu-” She stopped before she could finish the word, knowing he’d follow through on the threat. He’d done it before.

 

**…**

 

Darla had lost her soul a long time ago. Long before, she sometimes thought, she’d even become a vampire for the first time. She’d lost it when she’d been a child on the streets, hungry and alone and forced to sell her body to men who claimed to worship an all-seeing god who seemed all too blind to the suffering of the world. How she’d hated them and their god. She’d set about breaking all their laws, reveling in whatever sin she could find.

And her soul had left. It had fled away deep inside, hiding from life on the streets. Hiding from the brothels. Hiding from her rise to owning her own house and selling other girls. Hiding away until the welcome bite of the Master… _her_ Master, had set it free to probably burn in hell. That was one thing those bastard lawyers had done right. When she’d been brought back as a pathetic, scared human, she hadn’t remembered anything about wherever her soul had been.

“Here’s the guest room,” Cordelia said, opening a door in her apartment.

Darla stepped past her and into the room, barely noticing anything around her. Her thoughts were too full of her past. And of what she’d seen today. That ultrasound…. It hadn’t really looked like a baby. Just a weird shape. And she’d been able to hear its heartbeat for months now. Something about seeing it, though…. She’d connected. She’d lost the battle to hide this soul the way she had her own so long ago.

Cordelia said a few more things, but Darla wasn’t paying attention. Then the door closed, but she wasn’t alone. _He_ was there. A silent, brooding presence behind her. How often did Angel think about the past? How did he keep from being crushed under the weight?

“Do the good deeds make it better?” she asked, turning to face him. “Does it make it easier to face the past, knowing that you’re helping people now?”

“Sometimes,” he said quietly. “But it doesn’t balance the scales. All the evil I’ve done…. The evil _we’ve_ done…. It’s too much to ever undo.”

 

**…**

 

Wesley’s hands shook slightly as he slid the key into the door of his flat. He was very aware of Fred’s presence behind him, just standing there, holding the duffle bag the prophecy, reference books, and notes had been tucked into. With the hotel most likely unsafe for the moment, she’d nowhere to stay. He’d offered to get her a room at another hotel, but she’d – quite reasonably – pointed out that they would have better luck working on the prophecy together if they were, in fact, together.

She’d been quite reasonable about several things. Including joining him on his motorcycle for the trip from the restaurant to Lorne’s. Spike’s vehicle hadn’t enough room for more than four adults and an infant. It had been reasonable for her to ride with him. It had been reasonable for her to lean against him during that ride with her arms wrapped tightly about his middle. She hadn’t wanted to fall off, after all.

“I’ll, uh, I’ll be taking the couch. The bedroom is this way, if you’d like to get some rest.”

“Wes, we have to talk,” Fred said, carefully setting down the duffle bag. “About what happened when you were under Billy’s influence.”

Wesley swallowed hard and closed his eyes. He’d known something like this would happen. That she’d realize he could never be forgiven for what he’d done. The memories flooded through his mind. The rage he’d felt towards her. The way he’d belittled her and accused her of, of _flaunting_ herself at him. And then he’d struck her before chasing her about the hotel in an attempt to kill her. He was monstrous.

“You, Mr. Wyndam-Pryce, are being a big ol’ jerk,” she said. “You need….”

 

**…**

 

“...to think about what really happened,” Spike said into the phone. “Not what you _think_ happened, but what actually happened.”

“I messed up. I _know_ that,” Willow snapped. Then she paused for a moment to get herself under control. She knew by now he wouldn’t put up for long with her being all shirty. “I made some mistakes. Everyone else has, too, but they still don’t want to forgive me.”

Spike closed his eyes and silently counted to ten. How could such a smart girl be so bloody stupid about certain things? “It has naught to do with _wanting_ to forgive you. It has to do with them being ready. Might help a bit if you actually said you were wrong and sorry without qualifying it.”

“What do you me-”

He cut her off, voice higher pitched and mocking. “Oh, ever so sorry. I didn’t _mean_ to cast a spell that made Giles blind, endangered my best mate, and nearly sent my other best mate off into unwanted nuptials. Have a cookie and all will magically be better because I didn’t _mean_ to do it! So sorry I helped a spell-crazed slayer keep a man imprisoned in her bedroom. I thought I was doing the right thing. I just wanted to help a woman keep her baby, sod what the person actually carrying it wanted.”

That had actually turned out for the best in the long run, but that didn’t make what she’d done any less horrible.  And, honestly, if he’d been given free rein right from the start, he’d have likely come to the same decision about keeping Thursday. He’d always liked kids and had regretted that vampires usually couldn’t have any of their own, other than siring.

“Okay, but that’s all in the pas-”

“Not done yet, Red,” he said in his own voice. Then he went back to mocking her. “Oh, oopsie-doodles! A troll is loose, maiming and killing people whilst causing all sorts of destruction! I was trying to help Buffy, you see, for she’s ever so cross with me over my mistakes. Terribly sorry, but I didn’t _mean_ for it to happen. And, well, it was more Anya’s fault than mine. She should never’ve tried to stop me stealing bits and bobs from the shop and using them to work with forces I don’t fully understand.”

Silence on the phone, other than muffled sniffles. The chit was crying. Either from shame or anger, but he’d no idea which. Didn’t really care, either.

“Then there’s what you did with that arm,” he said quietly, no more mocking. “ _You_ chose to do that. To suck out the magic from forbidden books. You willingly took that evil inside of you, and it let loose every dark and selfish wish to flitter through your head. You made an entire town your mindless puppets and violated your girlfriend in every way imaginable. You tried to erase a sodding _baby_ from existence, because she’d become the center of Buffy’s world and you felt pushed out. Yeah, without the evil you’d absorbed, you never would have acted on those impulses, but they were still in there. And it all. Still. _Happened_.”

“And I can never be forgiven for it?” Willow asked in a small, sad voice.

“Didn’t say that, pet,” he said gently. He remembered that night, before they’d all gone to stop Willow. He’d gone to a church. Confessed he was a foul sinner unworthy of forgiveness. But he’d asked for it anyway, and there had been… _something._ “With flesh and blood beings, it’s always up in the air, when they’ll be able to forgive, and they’ve that right. With the divine, though? Pretty much anything can be forgiven. But the thing is, you have to acknowledge what you’ve done and ask forgiveness with a sincere heart. Don’t do that? You can….”

 

**…**

 

“… never be forgiven,” Angel said, staring at her with those deep brown eyes that had been part of the reason she’d turned him so long ago. “Neither can I. The things we’ve done….” He sighed and shook his head. “I’m sorry, Darla, but nothing we do will ever be enough. You’re feeling the baby’s soul right now, not yours. Yours is in hell, and that’s where mine will probably end up, too, no matter what I do to make amends. We’re both damned.”

Damned. It was such a harsh word, and he was probably right. She’d known she was damned when she’d been on her deathbed as a human. She hadn’t had long enough during her second chance to make up for anything, and if Angel was right, it wouldn’t have mattered. All his good deeds, and he was certain he was going to hell.

She frowned, studying him. Damned no matter what he did, yet he chose to go out and help others, even at his own expense. Why, when it would be so much easier to ignore it all? When she’d found him, he’d been the kind of man who used others for his own pleasure before tossing them aside. He’d had a soul then, but it hadn’t driven him to actively do good. It came to her then, exactly what he was doing. It wasn’t about achieving forgiveness, but it wasn’t really about the people he helped, either. It was, ultimately, all about him.

“You’re….”

 

**…**

 

“…punishing yourself,” Fred insisted. She was right, of course. He _was_ punishing himself. He deserved it after what he’d done. “It has to stop. The things you did? The words you said and the way you felt? None of that was _you_. It was forced on you. And you know what? I’m never going to forgive you for it.”

Wesley closed his eyes, stricken by the words but knowing it was what he deserved. It had been his fault. If he’d just been stronger. If he’d fought harder…. His eyes snapped open, his thoughts scattering in disarray as Fred gently cupped his cheek.

“Because there’s nothing _to_ forgive,” she said. “Billy Blim imposed his thoughts and feelings on you. He… he _violated_ you. That makes him the monster, not you. You were just as much a victim as I was. And if you let that monster tear down what we could build before we have a chance to try it…. Then he wins. And that’s something I learned in Pylea, Wes. You don’t let the monsters win.”

“Fred, I….” He stared into her eyes, filled with ferocity and… and _love_. How could she possibly feel that way? Perhaps because she was right? The way he’d acted. The way he’d _felt_. That hadn’t been him.

She moved closer, wrapping her arms about him and holding him close. “And here’s another thing to think about,” she whispered in his ear. “I’m a Texas girl. You ever do anything like that when it’s really you? My daddy taught me what to do with my knee. And a shotgun.”

That startled a laugh out of him, though he didn’t doubt it was true. This woman… she was amazing. And she wanted him. Or at least to see what they could have. “I….”

 

**…**

 

“… love you,” Buffy mumbled, turning to cuddle against Spike as he got back into bed with her.

He gazed down at her sleeping face and gently traced her cheek with his fingertips, warmth and wonder filling him at her words. She said it more these days, after all the sessions with Ben working through some of her issues, but it was still a treasure to hear it. It always would be. _She_ would always be a treasure. She could be a right bitch at times, but she could also be kind. And she was forgiving to a fault. In time, she’d no doubt even forgive Willow, though the witch would never again be as close a friend as she had been. Some betrayals could never – _should_ never – be forgotten.

“Love you, too, slayer-mine,” he whispered, holding her close.

He’d sought forgiveness, and he was fairly certain he’d gained it. But he wasn’t going to let that make him complacent. He was still a vampire. There was still that urge towards at least chaos if not flat out evil. He’d toe that line for the rest of his existence, and when that time came, they’d all be together in whatever it was that came after. As a family.


	10. Chapter 10

Spike absently tied a cherry stem into a knot with his tongue while watching his Slayer be utterly adorable. She was on the floor with Thursday, making squeaky growl noises as she “chased” the sprog across the floor on all fours. They were in the main part of the club, whiling away the hours until Angel and his team showed up.

“Gonna get you! Rawr! Mommy’s gonna catch you and eat you _all_ up!” Thursday squealed and hightailed it as fast as her little hands and knees would take her. It wasn’t fast enough. She was caught up and held aloft in the air. “Gotcha!”

Buffy put Thursday down on the floor, pushing up the wiggling infant’s shirt – black with pink-bowed skulls and the words “Daddy’s Punk Princess” in pink script – to expose her chubby little belly. Then she kissed it, making _om nom nom_ sounds before blowing a raspberry.

The moment she was allowed to escape, Thursday rolled over back onto her hands and knees and was off again. She motored under the table Spike was sitting at, babbling happily as she wrapped her arms around his leg.

He set aside the cherry stem knot and grinned down at her. “Got away from the Mummy Monster, did you?”

“Nnnehn na bah!”

“That so, is it?” he asked, scooping her up to sit in his lap. “Sounds like quite the adventure you had, pet.”

He poked through the bowl of mixed fruit on the table and found a banana slice to stick into her mouth. Lorne apparently thought – what with Spike being the equivalent of a month or so along – that he needed to be sitting down as much as possible and should have fresh fruit and milk handy, along with a continually topped off thermos of human blood. Buffy, the traitor, was fully behind all the unnecessary fuss.

As exasperating as it was, Spike didn’t actually mind, honestly. Just a bit odd, was all. There had been times when Dru had had enough presence of mind to pet and cuddle when he’d needed it, but for the most part, he’d been the one doing the fussing and caregiving for over a hundred years. Being on the receiving end still felt off somehow. Like it was all a dream, and he’d wake up at any moment to a nasty game of kick-the-Spike.

 _Not gonna happen,_ he told himself firmly. Buffy loved him. She wasn’t going to just up and walk out to be with Angel. She wasn’t that kind of girl, and she’d proved last night that she’d no interest in the smarmy git.

Spike’s thoughts were interrupted by the smarmy git in question coming in through the door, the rest of his lot tromping in after like they’d coordinated it ahead of time. Maybe they had, for all he knew. It’d be just like good old gramps to ring them all up to meet at an exact time so he could look all heroic and leader-y as he led them down into the club.

“This isn’t your private clubhouse, you know,” Lorne said from behind the bar, where he’d been working on setting things up. “The grand opening is in two nights, and I’m not postponing just so you can have a meeting place.” He glanced over as Buffy sat down beside Spike. “You can stay as long as you need, though. Caritas _is_ a sanctuary after all.”

“Does that apply to me, too?” Darla asked.

“No.” Lorne turned away with that and went back to stocking his bar.

“Oh, the love and harmony here just fills me with the warm fuzzies.” Darla’s voice dripped sarcasm, but Spike could have sworn there was something actually a little hurt in her tone.

“Yeah, sorry,” Cordelia said, answering sarcasm for sarcasm, “for some reason, none of us have really warmed to you. Might be the attempted baby eating or something.” She glared suddenly at Angel while Darla waddled farther in and sat down at Spike’s table. “Though at least you didn’t sleep with an evil ho-bag and then _lie_ about it!”

She sounded more upset about the lie than anything. From what little Spike knew of Cordelia, she was one to value honesty. He didn’t have much time to think on that though, with Darla staring hungrily across from him. Buffy was tense at his side, barely holding back from lunging across the table to stake the other woman. Spike carefully shifted Thursday over to Buffy, then scooted the bowl of fruit across the table. Darla fell on it like a ravenous beast.

“Hopefully we’ll be able to set up back at the hotel soon,” Wesley said, striding past Angel to put a stack of papers and books on a table. “I spoke with Giles today, and we’ve made a bit of a breakthrough in the prophecy.”

“It turns out some of the irregular verbs Wes was using were problematic when converted to Ga-shundi because of the Nyazian trick of converting both nouns and verbs,” Fred added, coming up beside the ex-watcher. She smiled at him. “But I’ll stop there and let him get on with telling you what he and Mr. Giles discovered.”

Their body language was different with each other than it had been. Closer and lacking the uncomfortable tension. Spike suspected the prophecy wasn’t the only breakthrough that had been made. He wondered if Fred had taken his advice. Either way, something had changed for the better. Good on them.

“The Tro-clan isn’t a person or even group of people,” Wesley began. “It’s a confluence of events.”

Angel frowned at that, his massive brow furrowing as the hamster in his thick skull got the rusty wheel in motion. “Not a person?” He glanced at Darla. “So that means my kid isn’t some kind of big evil thing bringing an apocalypse?”

“Confluence doesn’t sound like it actually rules the kid out,” Charlie pointed out. “It just means we’ve got something going on that involves you, your kid, Darla, and some other stuff.”

“Other things like her?” Angel asked, eyes narrowing as he looked at Thursday sitting innocently on Buffy’s lap.

“The little cutie cake isn’t part of this,” Lorne said.

Wesley frowned over his shoulder at Angel. “Lorne already ascertained that Thursday had nothing to do with the prophecy. I filled you in on that yesterday.”

The great and magnificent poof at least had the decency to look uncomfortable. “Right. But what about the other one? Spike needs to sing, so we can find out about the _thing_ he’s carrying right now.”

Everyone seemed to talk all at once in response to Angel’s words, but it barely registered for Spike. His grandsire was staring at him with a mix of emotions – contempt, jealousy, and revulsion at the forefront – and it brought all the old insecurities blazing to the surface.

“Whoa, wait, are you saying the dude’s pregnant again?”

Worthless, pathetic puppy. Never good enough. Stupid and unattractive, naught but a poor substitute for those what wanted Angel.

“I don’t mind helping you out with the whole saving the world gig, Angel-cakes, but you can’t just expect me to use my powers whenever you snap your fingers.”

Always second best. Always, always, always.

“Damn it, Angel,” Buffy snapped. “Aliena is not a thing! I told you –”

Her words hit Spike like a pail of ice water. “You _told_ him?”

He stood up abruptly and backed away from her, feeling betrayed. She _knew_ he hadn’t wanted Angel to know, but she’d gone and told the wanker anyway. _Bloody hell._ He could feel tears threatening to fall. Stupid sodding hormones.

Buffy paled, eyes wide and guilty as she looked up at him. “That’s not.... I didn’t…. He figured it out on his own! I was going to tell you, but you were asleep when I got here, and then….” She trailed off, blushing at where her thoughts must have gone. “I sort of forgot after that.”

Spike blinked, some of his anger and hurt dying away. “So, what, you’re saying that I’m so incredibly sexy that it drove the thought right out your head?”

“Angel _does_ have a point,” Wesley cut in. “Some of the Nyazian phrases distinctly refer to something being born. If Spike is… uh, expecting again, it would be best to rule this other child out.”

“Fine,” Spike snapped, the anger back in full force. “I’ll bloody well sing, but not because of your sodding prophecy. Lorne’s been right friendly, and the poor sod’s had to listen to Angel a time or two. He deserves something actually _good_ for once.”

 

**…**

 

Buffy watched, feeling miserable, as Spike stalked towards the stage and poked at the karaoke machine. She really _had_ meant to tell him about Angel figuring things out. But she’d forgotten, and now Spike was mad at her. And staring at her with a wicked little smirk that seriously did not bode well. He was going to sing something that would embarrass her, she just knew it. Probably Wind Beneath My Wings.

Then the music started playing, and she suddenly wished it _was_ Wind Beneath My Wings. He curled his tongue behind his teeth seductively, then started to sing.

“Take me now, baby, here as I am.  
Pull me close, try and understand.  
Desire is hunger, is the fire I breathe,  
Love is a banquet on which we feed.”

Not the yell-singing he tended to do with loud punk songs and not the off-key crooning of when he just didn’t give a damn. It wasn’t even the soft, sweet tone he used when singing for Thursday. No, this was a smoky near-purr that sent a ring of shivers through Buffy, starting at the top of her head and traveling down, seeming to make a special pit stop at her groin.

“Come on now, try and understand,  
The way I feel, when I’m in your hands.  
Take my hand, come undercover.  
They can’t hurt you now, can’t hurt you now….”

He danced to the music, sinuous and sensual, and there was a big part of Buffy that wanted to hand Thursday over to Lorne and jump up on the stage. Run her hands all over that flexible, well-toned body. She felt her cheeks heat at the thought. No, no, no. Bad Buffy. No molesting her vampire in front of Angel. That would just lead to a fight, and she _so_ did not want to deal with that at the moment.

“…love is an angel,” Spike’s eyes flicked over towards Angel with distaste before focusing on her again, “disguised as lust. Here in our bed until the morning comes. Come on now, try and understand, the way I feel under your command….”

Under her command…. Why hadn’t she at least packed the handcuffs? Or the strap-on? _Because we came here to help with the whole pregnant Darla thing,_ she reminded herself, _not have kinky, sexy fun times._ Why had that seemed like a good idea, again? She actually drifted off into fantasy land for a moment or two, lulled there by the sound of Spike’s voice. She only came out of it when Lorne sat down next to her.

“…so touch me now, touch me now, touch me now….”

Oh god, he was making come hither gestures while giving her bedroom eyes. Stupid sexy vampire.

“You are one lucky little firecracker,” Lorne murmured.

“I’m going to throttle him,” Buffy muttered back. Lorne just laughed softly in response.

Spike finished the song and sauntered down from the stage. “Well, mate?” he asked, looking at the green demon with a raised brow. “See any prophecy bugaboos?”

“Nope. You are officially bugaboo free, my friend.” Lorne glanced over his shoulder at Angel. “Buffy and Spike are only here because Wes happened to call them. They have absolutely nothing to do with your apocalypse cocktail.” He looked back at Spike. “Just stay the hell away from Wolfram & Hart.”

Definitely good news. Angel should, hopefully, get off their case about the babies now, and they’d already known they had to keep away from Evil Incorporated. Some of the tension went out of Buffy. Some, but not all. Damn vampire. She stood up abruptly and handed Thursday to Lorne.

“You have babysitting duty,” she told him as she grabbed Spike by the arm and pulled him towards Lorne’s bedroom. “We’re going to be having a talk.”

 

**…**

 

Buffy’s idea of a “talk” apparently started with her slamming Spike against the wall instead of actual dialogue. Par for the course with her, really. She could sling words with the best of them, but when it was important, she preferred actions. Her actions seemed to be saying she was just as brassed off with him as he was with her, which was hardly fair. Yeah, okay, so he’d embarrassed her, getting her all hot and bothered right there in front of God and everyone, but that wasn’t the same as withholding important information. Even if she hadn’t meant to.

“You,” she said accusingly as she pinned his arms above his head, “are a very bad, evil, evil man.”

Then she turned and walked away from him. Damn it. _He_ was the one supposed to be all moody and contrary right now. She could bloody well wait her turn. He dropped his arms down to his sides now that she wasn’t holding them in place and went after her.

“Buffy –”

She whirled and slapped him, just hard enough to sting. Anger flared white hot. Bloody bitch! What the bloody hell did she think she was playing at?

“Who gave you permission to move from where I put you?” she demanded, voice husky and eyes dark with desire.

Oh. _That’s_ what she was playing at. He took a deep breath, the taste of her arousal hot and thick on his tongue like fresh made caramel. He could either play along or push for an actual, real fight. Or even just drop both ideas if he wanted. The ball was in his court now.

It was an easy enough decision. With a slow smirk, he took several steps back until he was against the wall again. Then he raised his arms, wrists crossed up above his head as if he were restrained.

“Sorry, love. I’ve been a right bad man, haven’t I?”

“Oh yeah, you definitely have,” she said, pressing herself against him. Her hands slid up under his shirt, her nails pressing lightly against his skin. “I’m going to have to punish you for it.”

He held back a cry of mingled pleasure and pain as her nails sliced through his skin. God, he loved it when she did that. Marking him as hers, even if they would close up and fade away before too long. Her mouth joined in, biting at his neck hard enough to bruise. Her breath was warm against his skin, and then her tongue…. He moaned, eyes rolling up into the back of his head for a moment as he arched his hips against her.

Then that persistent nugget of insecurity reared its ugly head, and he had to ask, even though he hated himself for it. “You really meant to tell me?”

Buffy froze, then slowly, gently kissed her way up. “I really meant to,” she whispered. A shudder went through him as her tongue traced the contours of his ear. “You were right. You really were so sexy that it drove the thought right out of my head. Pretty, pretty vampire.”

“At least until I get as big as a bloody hou-”

She kissed him, hard and rough, stealing his words and unneeded breath away with the power of it. She pushed him tighter against the wall as her tongue delved into his mouth, silently proclaiming every inch of him hers, inside and out.

“That’s… enough of that,” she said as she pulled away, panting. “Sleek, slinky panther or killer whale, you’re _always_ a seriously sexy man.” She leaned in again, nibbling at his earlobe. “I really like my killer whale Spike.” Her hands moved, stroking his belly. “All nice and round with our child. Mmmm. If I thought we could take care of that many kids, I’d seriously consider getting you pregnant once a year.”

Spike laughed softly. God, he loved this woman. “Our own little army of slaypires, eh?” he teased. “Not about keeping me all barefoot and preggers, is it? You just want other guardians of the Hellmouth so you can sit about on your arse at the beach.”

“Oh, yeah, but it’s totally not worth spending the thirty years or so changing diapers. Now shut up and kiss me.”

“As you wish,” Spike murmured. Then he shut up and kissed her.

 

**…**

 

Lilah Morgan finished reading the file on her desk and slowly smiled. Gavin and Linwood had been running around like headless chickens ever since this morning when she’d identified the “unknown pregnant female” in the surveillance images as Darla. Lilah would keep her fingers enough in that particular pie to reap the rewards if all went well, but she was backing a different pony for the most part.

The young woman that had been called in to help had been identified as a vampire slayer, like Miss Lehane. They’d probably have even less luck getting this slayer willingly on their side than they’d ultimately had with the imprisoned one. That didn’t bother Lilah in the least. If she was gauging things right, all she had to do was get ahold of the baby and this Spike vampire and the slayer would come to them.

Lilah patted the file on her desk. All the details of the So’voriku ritual Angel had conveniently mentioned while ranting about the dangers of slayer/vampire hybrid babies when he and the slayer had been alone at the Hyperion.

They could stick Spike into one of the vacation dimensions the human VIPs used when they wanted to get away for a while with very little time passing back at home. Once the child he was apparently carrying now was born, they’d put the happy couple into a room together with a Kevary idol and have the chant needed piped in prerecorded over the intercom. Then put Spike back in the other dimension.

Rinse and repeat and even have the girls raised there. She’d have an army of obedient little slaypires ready for the senior partners in no time. Even if the shit hit the fan with Angel and Darla’s mystery child and Gavin and Linwood ended up headless for real, Lilah was going to come out of this smelling like roses.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song Spike sings is the Patti Smith version of Because the Night. A few lines of dialogue were taken from the Angel episode Quickening.


	11. Chapter 11

After Spike’s shameless display up on the stage, Angel had had to leave. It was that or follow him and Buffy into Lorne’s room and punch the smug little bastard. As good as that would have felt, it would only have ended up with Buffy even deeper under the spell of the younger vampire’s undeniable charm. Spike could pull off wounded puppy dog pretty damn well, and giving him a well-deserved beatdown would only have convinced Buffy even more that Angel was in the wrong. For whatever reason, she was blind to what the pest was doing to her, and pushing her to see had, so far, only made things worse.

So instead of putting Spike in his place like he’d wanted, Angel had gone out on a patrol of his city. He’d saved a couple of people, including a small blonde girl with blue eyes. Just like…. He frowned. Buffy’s eyes _were_ blue, weren’t they? He tried to think back to all of the times they’d gazed into each other’s eyes, but he was drawing a blank. Cordelia’s warm brown and even Darla’s flinty hazel came easier to mind.

Darla.... She’d seemed so lost, like during her all-too-brief second chance. He’d been tempted to lie, to tell her there was hope for both of them, but she’d always been one to prefer the cold, hard truth. And besides, baby’s soul or not, she was evil. There was no sugar-coating that.

Angel sighed and shook his head to clear it as he approached Caritas. He felt a little guilty about having left. They needed to get this all figured out as soon as possible, and he’d let his emotions send him storming out. _Though at least I didn’t abandon research to have sex in someone else’s bedroom,_ he thought in annoyed disgust.

“…surveillance cameras set up in the hotel,” Gunn was saying as Angel walked in and down the stairs into the main part of the club.

Fred and Wesley seemed to actually be doing research while Gunn was talking to Cordelia and Buffy. Lorne was making phone calls – ordering last minute things for the grand reopening from the sound of it – and Spike was sitting on a blanket on the floor, playing with the baby. Unless she was hiding behind the bar, Darla didn’t seem to be there.

“Where’s Darla?” he asked, his voice harsher than he’d intended. He’d only been gone for twenty minutes at the most. How had she managed to get past them? “How the hell did you lose a woman who has to be around nine months pregnant?”

The sudden silence had an annoyed feeling to it before Spike broke it. “We didn’t bloody lose her, you berk. She’s resting her back in the employee room with some blood and a sandwich. May come as a bit of a shock, but carrying about a bowling ball in your middle does a number on the old spinal column.”

“Oh, yeah,” Cordy said with a sympathetic wince. At Spike’s questioning look, she explained, “Demon pregnancy. I went from zero to about to burst overnight.” She grimaced at the memory. “At least I didn’t actually have to give birth to the things.” Her eyes narrowed thoughtfully as she looked at the baby. “How did you manage that, anyway? Are we talking magical girl parts here, or alien chest burster?”

“Neither, actually. Gathered from the research she was meant to just sort of pass on through. A bit like magical reverse osmosis or somesuch. Had a bit of a visit from Dru instead, who decided it’d be a grand lark to play Dr. Dru’s Discount Cesarean Emporium. Came at me with a great bloody knife and cut her right out.” He gave a “what can you expect, though?” shrug and turned his attention to Gunn. “What were you just on about with surveillance cameras at the hotel?”

“I think that’s how you and the kiddo there got on Wolfram & Hart’s radar,” Gunn answered. “Cordy’s vision showed a bunch of guys at the hotel after Darla and her baby, right? That makes sense with the prophecy, but she saw them capturing Thursday and Spike, too. If they aren’t part of this confluence, how does W&H know about them? I’m betting surveillance cameras and listening devices.”

“That doesn’t explain why they want Spike, though,” Cordelia pointed out. “He’s a vampire who can’t even hurt people. What are they going to do, put him to work in the mailroom? I doubt they have every single room in the hotel bugged, and it’s not like anyone talked about him being pregnant again in the lobby.”

Angel shifted uncomfortably and glanced at Buffy. Big mistake. She was glaring at him in white-lipped fury. “Hey, it’s not like I _knew_ the place was bugged,” he protested defensively.

“Bloody hell,” Spike swore. “That’s where Captain Forehead had his big revelation, wasn’t it?”

“Yes,” Buffy ground out from between clenched teeth. If slayers had come equipped with heat vision, Angel was pretty sure he’d have turned into a pile of dust just from her glare. “We were in the lobby when he decided that was the perfect time to butt into things that aren’t any of his business. Then to go on about how I’m supposedly living my life wrong because I’m not acting like a little girl constantly seeking his approval.”

“That’s not what I said,” Angel argued, stung by her words. Damn it, he _cared_ about her. Of course he was going to worry and speak up when she made really bad decisions. “I just want what’s best for you.”

“Ugh. Men,” Cordy muttered in disgust.

He ignored it. She’d been pissed off at him from the moment Darla had shown up at the hotel in her current condition. It wasn’t exactly the first time she’d ever been mad at him. He’d get her a bunch of new clothes once things settled down, and everything would be fine.

“Hey, now,” Spike protested before Angel could manage to get a word in. “Don’t be dragging an entire gender through the muck just because your boss is a right arse most the time. We’d kick him out if we could, but he knows the secret handshake an’ all.”

“Says the guy who’s pregnant for the second time,” Angel muttered.

Spike gave him an infuriating smirk and curled his tongue behind his teeth. “Jealous, are we? Over the fact it isn’t you, or that you’re not the one what rolled out the dough for this particular bun?”

“Shut up, Spi-”

“Uh-oh,” Fred suddenly said, cutting Angel off.

“What is it?” he asked. Uh-oh didn’t sound good at all. His mind flashed to the image he’d seen on the ultrasound. His son, innocent and vulnerable. Uh-oh didn’t sound like it would be safe for the little guy. “What’d you find out?”

“I’ve been going over my calculations again now that we’ve been able to figure out some of the conversions and translations. If my numbers are right, the last piece of this confluence is going to become active in a few hours. And then everything’s going to come together tomorrow night.”

 

**…**

 

Everyone seemed to be talking at once, trying to figure out where everything was going to go down and how they were going to deal with it. Everyone but Buffy. She already knew. She just wasn’t particularly happy with that knowledge and really didn’t want to get all share-y with it yet.

She wasn’t usually all plan girl, but this one was simple, direct, and had bloomed in her mind like one of those giant, stinky flowers. Amorphophallus titanum, _titan arum, or corpse flower_ , her mind supplied, dragging the obscure school knowledge from the vault that held things like that and the Coo-Coo Cola song from Rescue Rangers. God, a soda sounded really good right about now. And she really needed to login to the online blackboard in the next day or so. The online classes good old UCS offered were easier to work around, but she still had to participate in discussions and stuff.

“Oi, Slayer!” Spike’s voice finally cut through her fuzzy thoughts. “You alright, love?” he asked, quieter now that he had her attention. “You’ve been stood about, staring into space for a few minutes now.”

“Yeah.” She took a shaky breath. “Yeah, I’m fine. And I know what we need to do.”

Angel frowned at her. “Buffy, Wes and Fred are still trying to work out the prophecy. Until they do and we know where things are going to happen, we can’t really make any concrete plans.”

“No.” She shook her head. “We have exactly what we need. Your cornflower thing,” confluence. She knew it was confluence, but dealing with uncomfortable things with “look at the dumb blonde” humor was too ingrained, “is happening tomorrow night, right? Darla and her baby are part of it, along with whatever is showing up tonight. I’m betting your freaky law firm is part of things, too. We take Darla to the hotel where the cameras can see her, and everyone will come to us.”

“You want to use my child as _bait_?” Angel asked incredulously.

Buffy didn’t even look at him. Her eyes were fixed on Spike. “And mine,” she said quietly. She wanted the protective instinct to rear up and choke off her words, but no, the damn thing agreed with the plan. Spike and their babies would be safer with the threat dealt with. “We aren’t officially part of things, but we’ve been dragged in. So, to get everything done in one swoop, Spike and Thursday need to be bait, too.”


	12. Chapter 12

It was all fairly simple, really. The whole lot of them were back at the hotel, acting as if they hadn’t a clue there were cameras and listening devices strewn all about. Once the pieces of the confluence all gathered together for the great destiny orgy, Spike was meant to sneak out the back with Darla and Thursday in tow. They’d scarper off to the DeSoto – parked a block or so away in the hopes that it wouldn’t ping anyone’s radar as a possible get-away car – and drive to Lorne’s, where they’d be protected by the double sanctuary spells.

It was a good plan. Solid and had a good chance of working. Despite that, Spike hated it. He wasn’t exactly all over thrilled about Thursday being put in danger, but he understood the need. What if he alone wasn’t enough to bring in the ones interested in her? So, yeah, he was fully onboard with that part of the Slayer’s plan. What had his knickers in a twist over the whole thing was having to bugger off and leave the fighting to everyone else.

He wasn’t some delicate little flower what needed protecting. So what if he was in the family way again? It was only two sodding weeks! The equivalent of a human woman being one month along. He could bloody well still fight. Hell, even Darla could take out a few. Being mystically preggers seemed to have upped her strength, and nothing any of the baddies did would hurt her sprog. They should stay and fight, let the bloody cheerleader be the one to take Thursday to Lorne.

“Will you stop that?” Darla snapped from the sofa. They were in a room near the back entrance, probably meant as an employee breakroom. Thursday was with them, napping in the carrier that snapped into her car seat. “All that pacing is making me dizzy.”

Spike stopped for a moment to glare at her, then resumed pacing. “Never much cared for obeying you back when you were my great grandmum. What makes you think I’ll snap to now, with you being my li’l sis and all?”

Right peculiar, it was. She still _felt_ like a vampire a few centuries old. She still gave off that pull of an older vampire in one’s direct line. At the same time, though, she was very much both a fledge and more-or-less his sister. And he could feel it, all tangled about with the other stuff.

He shook his head clear of the contemplations and threw himself down on the sofa, mainly because he needed a break from the pacing as much as Darla did. For now, anyway. He’d likely be right back at it in a moment or two. Being still for any significant amount of time – other than during sleep when he tended to be as motionless as a log – wasn’t exactly high up on his list of skills.

He groaned in frustration and put his hands over his eyes before sliding them up into his hair. Then he was back on his feet and pacing again. “I wish this meetup we’re supposed to be rabbiting from would bloody well _happen_ already.”

Darla snorted and shook her head, a slight, almost fond look on her face. “You never did have any patience.” She paused, then added. “Except when it came to Dr-”

She stopped talking with a small grunt, wincing in pain, and Spike left off his pacing to stand in front of her. He wasn’t entirely sure when they’d started, but she’d been having pains off and on for at least the hour or so they’d been in this room.

“Right, then, probably time to let the others in on your situation here.”

He turned, intending to grab Thursday – no way was he leaving the sprog alone with Darla – but Darla grabbed his arm with bruising strength. “No! Don’t leave. I… I don’t want to be alone.”

He only saw if for an instant before she let go and looked away, but there was such fear and confusion in her eyes. _Bloody hell,_ he thought with a sigh as he sat back down beside her. He didn’t know if it was the soul or just him being him, but, as much as he hated the bitch, he couldn’t help feeling for her.

“Why didn’t you kill it?” she asked after a few moments of silence.

At first, he wondered what she was on about, but then he saw her hand resting on her belly, and he knew exactly what she was asking. “Tried to,” he admitted quietly. “Had a knife all ready to skewer myself and the sprog with, but….” He shrugged. “Couldn’t bring myself to do it. I loved her too much.”

“Because of her soul.” It was a statement, not a question, because she was sure she must be right.

Her and Angel, always thinking they must be the be all, end all of vampires, and never once entertaining the notion that mayhaps their inability to love anything but themselves had more to do with them being them. They really should have known better, considering who they’d been before they’d died.

“No. It was early days yet. Soul wasn’t developed enough to affect me. I loved her because I loved her. She was mine, and I loved her.” He glanced over at the sleeping infant, arms practically itching to hold her. “Still do, and I always will.”

“How?” Darla demanded. She laughed, on the edge of hysteria, before he could even try to form an answer. “Anytime something caught when I was alive, I’d take whatever I could get my hands on to be rid of it. I eventually caused enough damage that I just stopped getting pregnant, and I was _glad_. I wanted to get rid of this one, too. I tried and tried and….” She broke off with a cry of pain as another contraction hit. “Why…” she panted out, “don’t I want to kill it anymore? Why do I… love him?”

“Just answered your own question there, ducks,” Spike said. “You saw your spawn on the ultrasound, and he went from an _it_ to a flesh and blood baby boy.”

He remembered when he’d seen the image of Thursday. He’d already loved her, but actually seeing her? Knowing for a fact that she was a healthy little girl? Not even Willow being there and nattering on about what they should name Thursday – as if she’d any say in the matter – had been able to completely ruin the moment for him. Buffy wanting to call her Celia had sent him off in a huff, but that look inside had still been special.

“You think I’ll still be able to love him?” Darla asked, a hopeful, desperate edge to her voice. “When he’s out of me, and I can’t feel his soul anymore?”

“Souls don’t have a thing to do with the ability to love,” he pointed out. He’d gotten his own back for three basic reasons. So he would be able to help Thursday deal with having both a soul and bloodlust, because he’d actually kind of missed the feeling of having one, and so some part of him could continue on with his family once they’d all shuffled off this mortal coil. None of it had anything to with being able to love. But this was Darla they were talking about, not him. “Honestly, though, I think you’d likely bash his wee brains in the first time he keeps you up all day with non-stop crying.”

She stared at him for a moment, looking utterly stricken, before launching herself at him. Instead of attacking, though, she pressed her face against his chest and cried. He patted her awkwardly on the back, murmuring quiet nonsense until she suddenly slid her hand under his coat and along his side. She probably meant nothing by it, considering her sex drive had to be nearly non-existent at this point, but it reminded him too much of his fledgling years, when she’d wanted what she’d wanted, and hadn’t cared that he didn’t.

He shoved her away and stood up, voice icy as he said, “Touch me again without my permission, and your wandering hand problem’ll be solved with an axe.” He turned away from Darla and picked up Thursday’s carrier, careful not to wake her. “I’m off to tell someone about your contractions.”

This time, Darla didn’t try to stop him.

 

**…**

 

Angel was running out of time. Everything was coming to a head tonight, and then Buffy would go back to Sunnydale. It was where she belonged, honestly, far away from him and the temptation to be together, but she’d be taking Spike back with her. The thought of it made him sick. The two of them together, Spike continuing to manipulate her mind and emotions until she didn’t know which way was up anymore.

This was Angel’s best chance to help her see how wrong it all was. He’d sent his team down to the basement for some weapons training, and Buffy was alone in Wesley’s office with one of her textbooks, using it to answer questions on some online school thing. He wondered if that had been Spike’s idea; isolate Buffy from the normal life of dorms and physically going to college so she had to be around him all the time, constantly at his beck and call and slaving away over the child. A little voice in the back of Angel’s head pointed out that he’d actually seen Spike change more diapers than Buffy had, but he pushed it aside. What they did here wasn’t necessarily the same as what they did at home.

“Buffy,” he said quietly once she closed the textbook.

“Unless this is about the plan or possible battle strategies, I _really_ don’t want to hear it.” She didn’t even bother to look at him.

“Yeah, well, you may not want to, but you obviously _need_ to. You’re throwing your life away, and I can’t just stand back and let you do it.”

“Can’t just _let_ me?” She was finally looking at him, her expression as incredulous as her voice. “Do you even listen to…?” She trailed off and shook her head, one hand coming up in a stopping motion. “You know what? No. Just _no._ One word, two letters. N. O. End of discussion.”

She shut down the computer and gathered up her things before trying to brush past him to leave the office. He wasn’t going to let her just walk away from this. He turned like he was going to let her through, but grabbed her arm with his full strength, stopping her and turning her to face him. She easily broke his grip, but he had her full attention now.

“I told you, I’m _not_ letting you do this. We can never be together, Buffy. _Ever._ ” She looked angry, rather than hurt. “But that doesn’t mean you should settle for less than what we had. For something that makes _you_ less.”

“Less than we had? Remind me just what it is we had again?”

He wasn’t getting through to her. He could see it in the way she held her shoulders, in the furious gleam of her eyes. Words evidently weren’t going to be enough, which left only one other option. It was cruel to both of them, but she’d literally asked for it, so he’d remind her. As she opened her mouth to say more, he leaned in and kissed her.

 

**…**

 

“… doesn’t mean you should settle for less than what we had. For something that makes _you_ less.”

Spike’s steps faltered as he walked out into the lobby. Angel and Buffy were stood together in the doorway of Wesley’s office, their backs to the edges and facing each other. Slayer was tense and angry while the poof was all brooding intensity and looked like he was about to crap himself. Buffy could fight her own battles, but this seemed like something she could use backup for.

He’d just taken a step towards the office when Buffy demanded that Angel remind her of what they’d had. He was pretty sure what she meant by that. She was going to be pointing out that they hadn’t had as much as Angel seemed to think, right? But then Angel leaned in, pressing his lips against hers in a passionate kiss, and everything Spike thought he knew was chased away by the sight.


	13. Chapter 13

At first, Buffy was too stunned by the kiss to have any reaction at all, so she just stood there while Angel mashed his cool lips against her own. There were no sparks, no memories of better times between them. Just blank disbelief that he would think what he was doing was okay. Then revulsion and rage swept through her, and she brought her knee up, smashing it into his groin with her full strength.

He grunted in pain, eyes bulging as he reached down to cup himself. Buffy didn’t give him a chance to recover. She slapped him hard enough to send him falling over sideways and then kicked him in the ribs.

“I. Do. Not. Belong to you,” she gritted out through clenched teeth as she glared down at him. “The only man I want touching me like that is my boyfriend. And that’s Spike, not _you._ As you like to keep pointing out, that will _never_ again be you.”

“Buf-” he started to croak out.

She was pretty sure she didn’t want to hear what he had to say, so she cut him off by pulling him up and slamming him against the wall.

“Do you even realize what it was we had?” she asked harshly. “I’ve talked to my therapist about you. He told me a lot of things about grooming and stalking. At first, I didn’t want to believe it, but it all made so much sense.”

All the cryptic advice, disappearing and reappearing at random, insulting her one moment and then praising her the next. All things meant to keep her off guard and make him seem mysterious and alluring. And then, once he had her all muddled and eating out of his hand….

She’d asked Spike once, after one of his nightmares about his fledge years, about the types of things Angel had done before the soul. He hadn’t wanted to talk about anything that had happened to him, but he’d told her about girls Angelus had hunted. Except for the fact that he hadn’t driven her insane, raped, or killed her, it was all so much like he what he had done to Buffy herself.

“Even without the curse’s escape clause, we never would have worked,” she said. “Because we never would have been equals.”

Angel looked at her incredulously and shoved her away from him before circling around her. She followed the movement. “What, and you think you and Spike –” She backhanded him across the face hard enough that he had to spit out blood.

“I’m _talking_ here!” she snapped. “Do we need to use a talking stick? Because I can always rip out your femur and beat you silent with it.”

Angel rolled his eyes at her threat as he wiped the blood away from his mouth. “Real mature, Buffy. And what the hell even _is_ a talking stick?” He didn’t wait to see if she’d answer. “Whatever you think you have with Spike? It’s not real.” She lashed out at him, but he caught her by the wrist and used it to shove her away from him. “He doesn’t love you. I don’t know how he tricked that ritual into working, but I know he doesn’t love you. He _can’t_. And you don’t love him.”

White hot fury tore through Buffy, and she channeled it into pure aggression. She feinted a punch towards his face before dropping down into a leg sweep, sending him crashing to the ground. Then she was on him, pinning him to the floor before lifting his head and slamming it back down to stun him.

“What the hell is it going to take to make you believe what’s right in front of you?” she demanded. “You’ve seen us taking care of Thursday, you know we have another child on the way, and you’ve even barged in on us while I was cuddling with Spike and feeding the baby. Do I have to shove him down to the ground and ride him like a pony right in front of you before you’ll finally just _stop_?”

She had lots more to say – so much more. She had barely even started – but she was cut off by a familiar, unhappy wail. Buffy was instantly on her feet, eyes scanning the lobby. And there she was. Thursday, strapped into her carrier on the circular couch. But there was no sign of Spike.

 

**…**

 

The little garden area Spike had found was likely meant as a place of quiet reflection. He didn’t particularly feel like being quiet, and as for reflection…. Well, was a vampire, wasn’t he? Reflection wasn’t exactly his thing. Violence, blood, death. Those were his thing. He punched again at one of the narrow concrete fence posts, using the first of those things to paint it with the second as the skin over his knuckles split.

The pain helped, but it couldn’t quite erase the images from his mind. Buffy and Angel locked in a passionate kiss. Dru with her skirts around her ears, squealing in glee as good old “daddy” stuck it to her. God, what was so bloody wrong with him that he was never, ever good enough? He wished he could just blame bloody Angel for it all, but even when he’d been alive, no one had wanted him.

He laughed darkly and punched the fence post again. Buffy had the daft notion she chased men away. Him though? Men, women, he chased them all away. Even his mum…. He shuddered, his mind skittering away from that thought, and he punched the post again. And again. Again, again, and again, until it finally gave way.

He stared at it, then at his bloodied hand. He closed his eyes and forced himself to take deep, even breaths. They had baddies on the way, he couldn’t afford to be standing about feeling sorry for himself. He’d left Thursday in the lobby right after seeing that kiss. She was safe enough there for now, but once the alarms they had set up went off, he’d only have a minute or so to get his girl out of the hotel and on the way to safety.

 _Get yourself together, mate,_ he told himself as he walked back into the hotel. Buffy was out of the office and in the lobby, holding a quietly fussing Thursday. Her eyes were wild, her skin flushed, like she’d been involved in a fight. Or had her blood up from a serious snogging.

“Spike! Where have you…?” She trailed off, staring at his damaged hand. Then she swallowed hard and looked into his eyes. “Oh, god, you saw. I… I can explain!”

He wasn’t sure he wanted to hear it. She wasn’t the type to cheat, but he knew how Angel could be. How he could make you feel special that he was bothering with you. How he could kiss you and touch you until….

The alarms suddenly went off. A loud, grating sound that sent Thursday into a fit of frightened screaming.

“Damn it!” Buffy swore. She put Thursday back in her carrier, much to the sprog’s displeasure, and thrust the entire thing at him. “I love you. Now, go!”

He stared at her for a moment. Then he went.

 

**…**

 

Pain had always been one of Darla’s kinks, both giving and receiving it. When she wanted it anyway, in regards to the later. What she was feeling as Spike hustled her out through the back entrance of the hotel was very much unwelcome. It was like her abdomen had become a giant fist, squeezing tight. Her back spasmed painfully while twisting, stabbing cramps rolled through her in waves. Everything below her breasts _hurt_ , like her clothes had become arcane torture devices.

Being expected to run during all of this while Spike’s brat screamed its damn head off really wasn’t helping any. She couldn’t do it. The current contraction reached the peak, and she fell to her knees, being dragged a few inches by Spike’s grip on her wrist.

“Keep up!” he snapped, glaring over his shoulder.

His grip tightened as he tried to yank her back to her feet. She didn’t know if he was still upset about that little misunderstanding – she hadn’t even been trying for anything, damn it! – or something else had gotten him all riled up, but he was clearly in a bad mood. She wanted to claw his eyes out for it, the bastard. She should have been alone in a room, screaming out her pain. Or alone with Angel, breaking his bones for _doing_ this thing to her.

“I’m trying,” she snapped back once the contraction had ended. “This isn’t exactly easy, you know!”

“Yeah, I _do_ know. Well, not about the contractions and whatall, but I’ve had to be running all about while fairly far along. And trust me, it’s a mite more pleasant than being a captive during it. Now move your arse!”

She put on a burst of speed, but then there was a strange sort of… _popping_ sensation followed by a rush of wetness. What the hell? What was this? _My water broke,_ she realized. She staggered and fell to her knees again.

“I… I can’t,” she panted out.

Spike swore and pulled her up, dragging her the last few feet to the car. He shoved her in the passenger seat, muttering darkly about her getting “mess” all over his car, and then put his kid into her car seat into the back before diving into the driver’s side and burning rubber. Time became a never ending blur of pain, awful pressure, and swerving peppered with British swearing and something about a tail.

“Bloody hell!”

Darla screamed, and so did the baby as Spike turned the wheel, doing a one-eighty before slamming on the breaks. When the spots cleared from her vision, she could see a large van sideways across the road in front of them. A quick look behind showed another one there. A collection of humans and demons started getting out.

“Looks like it’s going to be a fight,” Spike said grimly, his hands tightening on the wheel. He stared at Darla, jaw clenched. “I’ll keep ‘em occupied. You get Thursday to Lorne’s, it’s two blocks down.” He pointed. “You harm as much as one hair on her head, and I’ll hunt you down and torture you to death.”

Then he was out of the car and throwing himself into the fray, attacking anything and everything within range with reckless abandon. Darla got out too and frowned in confusion. Wasn’t he supposed to be electronically neutered when it came to hurting humans or something? Then another contraction hit. She barely managed to stagger into an alley and hide behind a dumpster before she lost track of everything except the sounds of flesh striking flesh. Eventually, the sounds of fighting stopped.

“Where’s the other one?”

“Don’t know, don’t care. We’re only being paid for these two, and the drugs won’t last long on the vampire.”

The sound of a car door opening, and then vans starting back up before all was silent. She crawled to the mouth of the alley and looked around. The vans were gone, and there was no sign of Spike. The back door of the DeSoto was open, revealing an empty car seat. Darla slowly struggled to her feet and started towards Lorne’s club. Alone.


	14. Chapter 14

She’d told him to go, but as Spike hurried away with their daughter, Buffy had to fight the urge to call him back. She wanted to kiss him, to wash away the lingering feel of Angel’s lips against her own. She wanted to hold him close, cuddling and petting as she explained exactly what had happened and soothed away the hurt. She also kind of wanted to punch him in the nose for not having more faith in her, but she understood it had more to do with his history with Angel than with her. There wasn’t time for any of that, though, and she had the horrible feeling something bad was going to happen and she’d never get the chance for it.

“What happened to you?” Fred’s voice suddenly asked, accompanied by what sounded like a herd of elephants thundering up from the basement. It was almost enough to drown out the sound of the damn alarm.

Buffy turned towards Angel’s team just in time to see Wesley flip a switch. In the resulting silence, Angel mumbled something about falling down the stairs. She stared at him incredulously. He was claiming he fell down the damn _stairs_? He’d forced a kiss on her, mild sexual assault at the very least, and he was trying to use a common excuse given by battered women to explain the injuries he damn well deserved?

 _He probably thinks he’s the victim in all of this,_ she thought in disgust. _Poor, noble Angel, just trying to save the silly little woman from her mistakes._ The – what was it Spike liked to call him sometimes? – gormless tit was lucky that a bunch of heavily armed commandos burst into the lobby at that moment, because “the stairs” were more than ready for a second round.

“Where’s Darla?” the man apparently in charge demanded, pointing a nasty looking gun at Angel. It wouldn’t kill him or anything, but the same couldn’t be said of the other guns pointed at the rest of them.

“I, too, would like the answer to that question,” a man said, coming in behind the commandos with a sword in hand.

He was dressed in a seriously ancient style, but he didn’t set off Buffy’s vampire tinglies. She thought he must be with the commando types, but the leader half-turned at the sound of his voice, scowling.

“Who are you?” he barked, gesturing at some of his men. They immediately turned their guns on the newcomer while the others kept theirs solidly aimed at her and Angel’s team.

“Holtz?” Angel whispered in stunned disbelief.

“I’m here for Angelus and Darla,” the Holtz guy said, fearlessly walking through the group of armed men.

Instead of answering right away, the guy in charge frowned slightly and put one hand up to his earpiece. “Understood,” he said into the little microphone dealy connected to it. Then he aimed his gun at the old fashioned guy.

Before he could fire, the man _moved_ , somehow, impossibly, slicing the gun – and the one pointing it – in half.

 

**…**

 

Angel stared at the ghost from his past in stunned disbelief as Holtz cut a swath of death with some kind of magically enhanced blade. It was able to both cut through guns and easily deflect bullets fired from assault rifles, things Holtz shouldn’t have been able to do with a normal sword, no matter how well crafted. Unable to fully processes everything just yet, Angel’s mind focused on the weapon, wondering where he could get one like it for his collection.

Sudden pain exploded through his chest, shredding the strange, surreal quality of the battle. There was noise and chaos as everything happened at once, and, while they were mainly focused on Holtz, bullets were flying fast and free. A quick look around showed that his people were diving for cover, but Buffy had idiotically jumped into the fray, ducking and dodging in an almost preternatural display of situational awareness.

She was the Slayer, a mystical warrior with a sacred duty to fight things far scarier than guns. Angel had the sudden feeling that the full implications of that had never quite fully clicked, that they were circling around and around, almost…. He shook it off with a low growl as he vamped and forced his battered, gunshot body to move. Slayer or not, she was still just a mortal girl with no protection from bullets.

“Buffy!”

She turned at his call, then winced and spat out a random British swear as a bullet clipped her arm. It wasn’t like in the movies or TV. Even a graze was a violent assault on the body of a human that was likely to send it into shock. Buffy, though, with a glare like it was somehow all his fault, seemed to shrug it off and go right back to bending gun barrels and bashing heads.

“Abort mission! Abort!” someone was shouting, and the gunfire ceased as the commandos who could still get away did so.

Holtz watched them for a moment, then turned away, his gaze fixed solidly on Angel. “Angelus,” he hissed, taking a step forward.

Then Holtz’s eyes rolled up into the back of his head and he fell to the floor as Buffy hit him in the head.

 

**…**

 

“He shouldn’t be here,” Angel said, sounding oddly numb and distant. He and Buffy were watching over their prisoner while Fred and Wesley worked on research in the office and Cordy and Gunn searched for cleaning supplies. “He’s from my past. Far in my past. Before the soul….”

They’d already done a rough cleanup of the hotel. There were still pools and smears of blood, but the bodies had been unceremoniously dumped down into the sewers, something Buffy hadn’t exactly been thrilled about though she knew they hadn’t had many other options. They’d even dealt with the dead guy outside near a couple of cages marked “Mama” and “Baby” and had slain the Grapplar demons who had apparently murdered him. The men who had just been knocked out had been tied up and left at the police station. All except for the guy from Angel’s past, who was currently tied up on the lobby couch.

“His name is Daniel Holtz. He was a vampire hunter two-hundred years or so ago,” Angel continued. “He chased after me and Darla for a while. We eventually slaughtered his family. Even the baby. And his little girl…. We turned her. We, uh,” he had to stop to clear his throat, “we thought it would be… _funny_ for him to find her like that and have to stake her.”

Buffy looked from him to the unconscious man, feeling sick. God, no wonder he’d done whatever it was that had let him live this long. If Angel had harmed so much as a hair on Thursday’s head, she’d have done whatever it took to make him pay, and that was with him having his soul. She felt kind of bad for knocking Holtz out. Yeah, he had just killed a bunch of people, but they hadn’t exactly been innocents, and it had sort of been self-defense.

As if he could sense the weight of her stare, Holtz stirred and slowly opened his eyes. Good. Once they got this guy figured out, she could go get Spike and Thursday.

“Angelus,” he slurred, immediately struggling in his bonds.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” Buffy said, trying to be soothing. “You’ve been through a lot, I get that, but this isn’t Angelus. Not anymore.”

Once, she would have been completely behind that statement, but now it seemed uncomfortably close to hypocrisy. Spike had his soul, but he was still Spike. The evil inside of him – which he had already been keeping tightly leashed because of his love for her and Thursday – had been very much tempered by a soul that she considered innocent of all he’d done after being turned. That’s what Angel should have been, too, but he’d disassociated so thoroughly that, other than sharing a lot of basic traits, he and Angelus could almost be considered two separate beings.

“He has a soul now,” she explained.

“And why should I believe the words of his latest she-demon?” Holtz asked coldly. He glared past her at Angel. “Where is Darla? Has she cast you aside?”

“Darla’s not here, and also, I’m not a demon,” Buffy said, trying to get his attention back on her. He didn’t seem exactly sane when he was looking at Angel. The look he gave her was clearly disbelieving, which she couldn’t really blame him for, considering he’d seen her in action. “Have you ever heard of the Vampire Slayer? One girl in all the world, chosen to fight vampires and things that go ugly in the night? Yada yada?”

The look turned startled. “You? Truly you are the Chosen One?”

In answer, she pulled her cross necklace up out of her shirt and held it in her hand. “No burning.”

“A soul, you say?” His gaze drifted back to Angel. “As if such a thing makes up for the evil he has done. Untie me so I may end this monster, if you will not. I demand justice.”

“There _is_ no justice,” Angel said quietly. “Not for the horrors inflicted on you.” He took a sudden deep breath. “Still human. I don’t know how you’re here, but it can’t be because of anything good.”

“For two hundred years, I slept.” Holtz’s eyes blazed as he began to struggle again to get free. “For two hundred years, I dreamt of nothing but the moment I would once more have you and your demon bitch within my reach. And if justice cannot be claimed….”

He surged up to his feet, the ropes falling away and the knife he’d apparently used to cut them in his hand. A stake was fished out of a hiding place by the other hand as he lunged at Angel, knocking him to the ground and pinning him to it with the knife through his shoulder. He held the stake up over Angel’s chest.

“… then I shall settle for vengeance!”

“Hey! Back off!” Buffy yelled, grabbing Holtz by the wrist and yanking him to his feet. She was vaguely aware of a phone ringing and Cordy’s recorded voice playing on the answering machine, but that so wasn’t important at the moment. “I’m a parent too, I know how much what he did to you has to hurt, but he’s a good guy now. Kind of a self-centered ass, sometimes, but really, he is.”

“Hey, guys, I know you’re probably really busy,” Lorne’s voice said over the answering machine, “but you really need to pick up. Darla’s here at the club. It’s been a chore getting any kind of sense out of her – she keeps babbling that she can’t have this baby, for some reason – but, uh… Spike and Thursday aren’t here. Wolfram & Hart have them.”

 _Wolfram & Hart have them. Wolfram & Hart have them…._ The words swirled through Buffy’s brain, lacking any meaning for one split second. And then it sunk in. Oh god. Wolfram & Hart, Evil Incorporated, had her pregnant boyfriend and their baby. Rage and fear rose up in a tidal wave inside of her, crashing down and wiping everything else away.


	15. Chapter 15

If she was honest with herself, Buffy had to admit that she enjoyed the hunt. The kill at the end, when necessary, was satisfying in that it completed her task of taking out the bad guy, but it was the hunt itself that really got her going. Right now, though? Right now, she wanted the slaughter. She wanted to storm the office of Wolfram & Hart and rip all of the employees into tiny shreds with her bare hands.

No, no, that would be wasteful. She’d kill the demony ones, but she’d just knock out the humans. Then, after she’d found Spike, she’d rip open their throats and feed them to him. Human blood, fresh from the tap. It’d be good for him and Aliena. She could raid the break rooms for Tupperware and thermoses to save the extra.

A little voice made disgusted and distressed noises in the back of her mind, but she could barely hear it over the fury and terror riding her. Spike and their babies at the mercy of the world’s most evil law firm. What was being done to them? Were they together, or had they been separated? Oh god, poor little Thursday, separated from both Mommy and Daddy and possibly being experimented on.

And Spike…. Did he still have his amulet? Would they know he needed to be kept warm? And that he needed human food along with human blood? She swallowed hard, feeling like she was going to be sick. _Calm down and_ think, _Buffy. You have to think._ Spike wouldn’t be there long enough for starvation to be an issue, and Willow had figured out both that (though not that he needed human blood rather than animal) and the cold thing just from looking up a website. Evil Incorporated would know how to take care of Spike. He’d be okay. He was going to be okay. She had room to breathe. To call in backup and form a plan. A calm, intelligent plan where they’d sneak in and… and she’d rip all the bastards to shreds for –

A cry of pain snapped her out of her thoughts and helped her push away the rage. She’d started clenching her fists, forgetting that one of her hands was wrapped around someone’s wrist. What? Oh right, Holtz. Trying to kill Angel for what had been done to his family. She took a deep breath and slowly eased her hold on him without actually letting him go. A quick look around showed Angel staring at her like he’d never seen her before while Wesley and Fred peered worriedly from the office.

Buffy was pretty sure they hadn’t just been standing around watching her in silence for several minutes, which meant her crazy murder fantasies hadn’t lasted very long at all. Good. Good. That was… that was good. She took another deep breath and closed her eyes. The urge to run from the hotel and storm Wolfram & Hart as a one-woman army was rising again.

 _If I do that, I’m going to end up dead,_ she told herself bluntly. _And if I’m dead, who’s going to rescue Thursday and take care of Spike while he’s carrying the baby?_ The effects of the ritual let up, leaving Buffy feeling wrung out and still pretty panicky, but in control of herself.

“Buffy…?”

“Shut up, Angel,” she said quietly, not even looking at him. She was focused on Holtz. There wasn’t time to deal with him right now. “That message we just heard? Some really bad people have my… husband and –”

“He is _not_ your husband!” Angel growled, interrupting her.

“Shut up, Angel!” she repeated, snapping it out this time.

He was technically right. She and Spike weren’t legally married, but all the legal documents Giles had set up for him, including his driver’s license, said William Summers. It was also what was listed on Thursday’s birth certificate. He was hers. It didn’t matter that there was no marriage certificate reflecting that.

In and out. Deep breaths, count to ten. She continued talking to Holtz. “They have my husband and our baby. She’s only eight months old. I may need Angel’s help to rescue them. After that, you can do whatever the hell you want to him, I don’t care. Just don’t start anything until my baby is safe, okay?”

Expressions flashed across the man’s face. Anger, grief, despair, hate. Finally, he closed his eyes and tried to pull away from her. She let him, and he opened his eyes again.

“Very well,” he said, a venomous look aimed at Angel. “Make use of the monster to rescue your child. It is fitting, after all the children he has slaughtered. After that, vengeance shall be mine.”

Buffy nodded and turned away from him as she pulled her cellphone out of her pocket. If she was going to get Spike and Thursday away from Wolfram & Hart, she couldn’t just count on Angel’s team to help her. She didn’t know their strengths and weaknesses. She had to call in backup that she was familiar with.

 

**…**

 

Reality flickered in and out. Blurry flashes of color and light broken up by bouts of near nothingness that seemed to last both forever and only a moment or two. Sight and scent and the feeling of being moved about came and went like the peaks and valleys of a sodding rollercoaster, but sound followed him down. One sound. The sprog was crying. Wailing in terror. He had to…. The struggle to cling to the edges of consciousness and pull himself up only shoved him back down. Everything went away then, even the crying, for eons and seconds and everything in between.

Falling, falling, down into the velvet dark before floating back up. Smears of light and color. Flesh toned blobs staring down at him. Naked and cold while flesh blobs made sounds at each other. Cold…. Something about that penetrated the vague confusion of his mind. Cold was bad. Why was cold bad? He chased the thought with a butterfly net of tattered consciousness, but it scattered and flew away, breaking into thousands of smaller flutterbies as something stabbed into his skin and took some of his blood away.

No, no, no. That was _his_ blood. Needed that, he did. Had to find his little girl. She’d crawled off down the rabbit hole and he’d no hope of chasing after if he hadn’t any blood in him. He struggled again, and this time his body started to obey, rousing him slightly instead of dragging him back under. The noises started to make some sort of sense.

“…edatives, he’s start… ake up.”

“We can’t… too much. Not safe… aby.”

“… have blood and tissue samples. Go ahead and take him to the prepared room.”

Movement again, strapped down to something as hallways streamed past. With each passing moment, he felt more himself, but he was still weak and groggy when the movement finally stopped and he was unstrapped. Spike envisioned himself leaping up from the gurney he was on, busting heads and tearing the whole place apart as he searched for Thursday. What actually happened was he twitched a bit and nearly fell off before someone caught him and shoved him into a room.

He threw himself clumsily at the door as it swung shut, but only ended up bouncing off it with a bone-shuddering thud. No handle or knob on his side, just a smooth, flat metal door. He threw himself against it again. And again. Again and again until the fact that he was shivering so much he could hardly stand finally penetrated.

Bloody hell. Spike dropped down to the floor, huddling in on himself, even though there bloody well wasn’t much point to it. Being a vampire and all, he didn’t produce body heat, but the human instinct to curl up to preserve warmth was apparently still there. Bastards had taken the little stone amulet along with his togs, and Aliena was sucking down what little heat he was absorbing from the air around him, turning him into a sodding vampsicle. Meant the wee bit had survived the drugs they’d used on him, but neither one of them was going to for much longer if he didn’t get warm.

A quick glance around the room put that fear to rest, at least. There was a right cozy looking bed against one wall with an electric blanket on it and plugged into a wall socket. He struggled up to his feet and staggered to the bed, glorious, wonderful heat soaking into him as he burrowed under the blanket. He took slow, deep breaths, trying to fight back the panic threatening to drown him now that he’d shaken off most of the sedative.

They had Thursday. He knew they did. He hadn’t heard or smelt her since coming to, but he knew he’d heard her crying at some point after they’d captured him. Darla hadn’t been able to keep her away from them. Had the bloody bitch even tried?

The need to hold his girl, feel her in his arms and breath in her scent, was nearly overwhelming. Was she even real? Had he dreamt it all up, a fantasy to escape from the reality that Dru had stolen her right out of him and had never really given her back? He squeezed his eyes shut and took in several shuddering breaths.

 _Come on, now, Spike, m’lad. That’s crazy talk, and you sodding well know it._ Thursday was _real_ and she was _his_. Not much he could do right now. Even if he managed to break down the door, he’d be too cold away from the electric blanket to be of much use. Buffy had a backup warming amulet. She’d bring it when she came for them, and they’d find their sprog together. And she _would_ be coming for them. All he had to do was wait, and then…. Demon, man, and soul were all in agreement, then these bastards would pay for taking their girl.

 

**…**

 

_“… daylight soon. Rescuing a vampire and a half-vampire baby isn’t going to be easy.”_

_“We’ll take some human blood with us, and a thick blanket. Spike knows how to keep out of the sun, and the blood will help the baby heal the nasty sunburns.”_

The conversation echoed in Holtz’s mind. The child the Chosen One wished to save was somehow half vampire. She burned in the sun and consumed human blood. He’d stolen away to an unused room after hearing that, the memories of his dear little Sarah overwhelming him. He remembered those last hours, singing to her and watching her play.

He’d known what he would eventually have to do, but he’d needed those hours. He’d struggled during them, thinking perhaps he could keep her with him. Give her animal blood, train her to be a person again. But in the end, he’d done what he must. He’d turned his precious little girl out into the sun.

The Slayer’s get was an abomination that had to be destroyed, but it was also an innocent child. Around the age of his son, who had, thankfully, been killed outright rather than turned like his older sister. What if that hadn’t been the case? What if he had had to render that tiny little body into dust as well?

The thought sickened him, as did the knowledge that it had to be done to the Slayer’s child. But not by her hand. The Chosen went through so much in their short lives, and he would not allow her to shoulder this burden. They would rescue the child, and she would have a few precious hours with her baby.

Then, God help him, Holtz would take matters into his own hands and slay the beast.


	16. Chapter 16

Angel watched as Buffy paced restlessly, constantly glancing from the clock to the front doors. Her friends would be arriving soon. It would be good to see them again. Or good to see Willow again, anyway. Things were still awkward and uncomfortable between him and Giles, and Xander…. He may have been out of his parents’ basement now with a kinky girlfriend, but he had to still be the same old Xander. A hateful little boy who couldn’t get over wanting to get into Buffy’s pants.

At least he’d be a little bit useful for Angel’s plan. His goofball antics would make a good distraction while Willow used her magic to get the rest of them in to rescue the baby for Buffy. They’d rescue Spike, too, while they were at it. As much as Angel hated Buffy lowering herself by settling for Spike, he wasn’t going to leave the pest with Wolfram & Hart, especially not while he was carrying Buffy’s child.

Maybe that wouldn’t have mattered to him before, but after seeing the ultrasound of his own child…. His thoughts drifted to Darla and Lorne’s message about her being safe and sound in his club. And possibly in labor. Worry gnawed at him, but he forced it back. Darla was strong and she liked pain. She’d be fine. And their son would be, too.

He was still telling himself that when Buffy’s backup got to the hotel. Xander wasn’t with them, not exactly something he’d be crying about, but Willow didn’t seem to be either. Just Giles and a woman with streaky blonde hair that Angel vaguely remembered seeing with Willow when he’d been in Sunnydale around Valentine’s Day. She was holding a small cardboard box while Giles had a plastic bag.

“Tara, Giles,” Buffy called out in greeting, sounding relieved as she walked towards them.

“It’s going to be okay. We’re going to get Spike and Thursday safe, okay?” The woman – Tara, apparently – said, smiling warmly as she shifted the box so he could give Buffy a one-armed hug. “I, uh, I wasn’t sure what we’d need, s-so I gathered up a bunch of practice charms the Wicca group has been working on.” She paused for a moment, then blurted out, “Oh, a-and I have a message from Xander. He says you better hurry up and rescue Spike and get home. They have a hot, pool-at-the-Bronze man-date scheduled for Friday, and he’s going to be really annoyed if he gets stood up.”

Angel frowned. That didn’t sound like Xander at all. The kid hated vampires with a passion, especially vampires with any interest in Buffy. Why would he be okay with Spike, to the point of hanging out with him and apparently being friendly about it? He shook the thought away. It wasn’t important right now.

“Where’s Willow?” he asked. Tara looked like he’d slapped her and Buffy suddenly went from worried to stiff and angry. “I need her help for my plan.”

“You and your plan can both go to hell,” Buffy spat, eyes blazing as she glared at him. “Actually, no, I’ve changed my mind. Let’s go with your plan, assuming it’s like the ones you always had in Sunnydale. You spout some cryptic bullshit that’s only vaguely helpful at me, then run away and get a manicure or whatever while I deal with the danger.”

“Buffy, that’s not….” He’d been trying to walk the tightrope line of helping her without interfering with her destiny. Couldn’t she understand that?

“This is what we’re going to do,” she said, not even paying attention to his words. He couldn’t really blame her, not after he’d rubbed her face in what they couldn’t have with that kiss. And then finding out some of the things he’d done to Holtz…. It was no wonder she was having trouble dealing with it all. “We’ll get into the building and just destr-”

“Ah, Buffy,” Giles cut in gently. “Perhaps it would be best to let cooler heads decide our course of action?”

“Giles is right,” Angel said, relieved the watcher was on his side. “Now, we really do need Willow –”

“I wasn’t talking about you,” Giles interrupted icily.

“W-Willow isn’t available,” Tara mumbled, looking down into her box. “And she, she probably wouldn’t have been much help here.” She took a deep breath and lifted her head to look right at him. “Wolfram & Hart are going to be shielded and on guard against powerful magics. Little magics like these?” She glanced down at the box of charms. “N-no one is going to even care.”

“I don’t even _care_ what the plan is!” Buffy practically wailed. “We just have to get in there. We have to get them –”

“We _will_ get them back.” Giles put his hands on Buffy’s shoulders, stilling her fidgety movements. “But you _must_ be calm and listen to me, or Wolfram  & Hart will remain a threat indefinitely. I’ll need most of the day to –”

“No,” she moaned. “No, no, no. We can’t leave them there that long!”

Giles shook her a little. “Get control of yourself! Use the ritual. Don’t let it use you. You need to be calm and focused, or Spike, Thursday, and Aliena will never be safe.”

She suddenly went completely still and stared at her watcher like he was only thing in the world. It was eerie and unnatural and made the hairs on the back of Angel’s neck stand up. Was this the ritual, too? Forcing calm on her instead of a frenzied rage?

“Most of the day, and then they’ll be safe?” she asked quietly.

“Yes. I have a plan; I just need time to set certain things in motion.” He smiled. “And the plan does happen to involve a certain amount of violence.”

“Good.”

Buffy seemed to sag then, and sniffled loudly. It took all of Angel’s willpower not to try to comfort her. He didn’t think she’d want it from him right now.

“Your, uh, mother sent along a care package,” Giles said, taking a step back and holding out the plastic bag. “An assortment of chocolate for you and some brownies for Spike with little marshmallows baked in. And, um, a quite good selection of loose-leaf tea.”

Angel stared at the bag as it was passed from Giles to Buffy. The woman who had demanded that he leave her daughter so she could have a normal life was sending treats for Spike? No. No, Joyce had just sent something for Spike because of the other baby. She wanted to make sure her second granddaughter was getting good nutrition. Except, if that was the case, she would have sent some kind of health food or something. Not marshmallow brownies.

None of Buffy’s friends and loved ones seemed interested in getting her away from Spike. Even the ones who had been dead set against Angel were apparently in his corner. He wanted to think they’d all just fallen for Spike’s undeniable charm. But, deep down in his mind, tucked away where he didn’t have to look too hard, he couldn’t help wondering if maybe Buffy hadn’t settled after all. Maybe she’d actually found someone who fit her just right.

 

**…**

 

Spike huddled in the corner, coat closed around him like a child’s blankey clutched tightly for comfort. They’d given back his clothes and had steadily raised the temperature until he felt only a little chilly out from under the electric blanket. That was something to be glad of, he supposed, but he’d gladly stay starkers and curled up on the bed for warmth in exchange for Thursday being in the room with him.

He kept thinking he could hear her crying, which was utter bollocks. Soundproofing was good enough that he hadn’t even heard his captors at the door when they’d brought his clothing and some grub. He glanced over at the tray with its bowl of stew and mug of human blood and shuddered. He’d no idea if someone had died for that blood or not, and as for the stew, well, just thinking on his first whiff of the stuff had him all over queasy again. Something in the congealed mess of ingredients hadn’t agreed with him, leaving him in misery for at least half an hour, desperately wishing vampires could vomit. Bloody any-time-of-the-sodding-day sickness.

Another phantom cry rang through his mind. God, she had to be terrified. Someplace strange without any familiar scents or sounds. He needed to get out of there. He needed to find his girl and hold her and never, ever let her go again. Staple her to him or somesuch. Or, well, her clothes at least, with her in them. Couldn’t put staples through his sprog. Maybe duct tape would be better? Seemed like staples might be a bit too flimsy to properly hold. Maybe do something involving one of the slings they had for her, make it easier to change her nappies and let her feed at her mum’s breast without him having to let her go.

But first, he had to get out. Get out and follow the cries echoing in his mind. _Hush-a-by, don’t you cry_ , he sang softly in his mind, trying to quiet her fears, even though he knew he couldn’t really hear her, and she definitely couldn’t hear him. _Get ahold of yourself, mate. Have to…._ Get out and find her. Slaughter his way through the whole lot of them keeping them apart. Bathe in their blood, and even his soul sang out in approval as his demon howled for blood and violence.

He surged up to his feet and ran at the door, throwing himself against it. The bloody thing was no more likely to yield than before, but he couldn’t stop himself from fruitlessly beating at it, throwing his body against it over and over again. Pounding and clawing at the door between hitting it with his shoulder, hands leaving bloody trails across the metal surface. Eventually, something snapped in his arm, but he ignored it, battering himself until a drawn in breath sent him staggering back to the corner, gagging and dry heaving.

Useless, pathetic wanker. A slightly hysterical giggle escaped him. God, he really was pathetic, brought down by a sodding bowl of stew he hadn’t been able to tolerate the scent of even before it’d gone off in the heat. Couldn’t even escape a bloody room and rescue his own child. Worthless, naught but rubbish. No wonder Buffy had turned to snogging Angel. Anything was better than Spike, even his smarmy git of a grandsire. Couldn’t do anything right. She’d asked just one thing of him. Get himself and Thursday to safety, and he’d failed. He’d failed and now Wolfram & bloody Hart had them both.

Buffy would come, though. He knew she would come. Maybe not for him ( _stop being a daft wanker_ , a little voice called out in his mind, _you know she loves you_ ), but she’d come for Thursday, and she’d rescue him, too, for Aliena if nothing else.

The cries tore through his mind again, angry and scared, and Spike squeezed his eyes shut. _It’s okay, love. Your mum is coming. And when she’s here, we’ll make them all pay._


	17. Chapter 17

Patrick Reynolds lazily scanned the lobby, giving off an air of sleepy indifference that couldn’t be farther from the truth. He took his job as a security guard at Wolfram & Hart very seriously, in part because of the pay and excellent dental plan. There was also the fact that if you didn’t… well, Larry had been a pretty dumb kid, actually falling asleep on the job for real three times in one month, and then saying he’d do anything not to be fired.

 _Poor, stupid kid,_ Patrick thought, shaking his head. Though the ritual sacrifice a couple of weeks ago at the Halloween bash had been one of the real highlights of the entire evening. Larry had been a fantastic screamer, and he seemed to be doing great now as a sort of non-rotting zombie down in filing. No more falling asleep since his type of undead didn’t need it, which was a good thing, what with the no eyelids anymore.

A group of people came in through the front doors, and the sleepy act suddenly fell away. There was something about two of them, a pretty brunette and a black man, that caught his attention, though he couldn’t quite put his finger on it. The woman planted herself firmly a few yards from the door and turned towards the man, possibly about to start up some kind of spat.

“Romeo, Romeo,” she suddenly bellowed. “Whyfort aren’t thou Romeo?”

Patrick winced. He wasn’t a huge Shakespeare fan or anything, but even he could tell she was butchering the lines. He should shoo her and her companion out of the building, but it was like watching a train wreck. He couldn’t seem to do anything other than stare.

“… or if thou willn’t, be but sworn my love, and I’ll no longer be Crapulent!”

Caught up in the woman’s most likely doomed attempt at not being “crapulent”, neither Patrick nor anyone else noticed as two young blonde women slipped past and deeper into the building.

 

**…**

 

 _Tara,_ Buffy thought as they quietly made their way through the building, _is a genius._ Not only were the two of them wearing _don’t-look-at-me_ charms – apparently designed to hide zits and other skin blemishes, and thus not something a law firm would waste resources on doing anything about – but she’d prepared the opposite type of charm for Cordelia and Gunn. The charms didn’t force anyone to keep looking at the wearer, it just made them very noticeable. Again, law firm, so full of lawyers fighting to be noticed, and not a thing anyone was going to so much as bat an eye over.

Tara was leading the way, using one of Buffy’s hairs as a baby-finding dowsing rod sort of thing. It was more strongly attuned to Thursday since Aliena was just a collection of cells tucked away inside of Spike, but she’d been assured the locator spell could find both. Tara did seem to be moving pretty confidently, but then her steps faltered as they reached an intersection.

Buffy had managed to convince her ritual-enhanced protective instincts that being calm, cool, and collected was the best way to save her family, but she could feel it stirring again. Had the spell failed? Would they have to tear and slaughter their way through the place until she found them? Her feet practically itched with the need to race headlong all over the building, causing as much mayhem as possible.

 _No,_ she told herself firmly, taking several deep, calming breaths. _We have a plan. It’s a good plan, and turning into a rampaging maniac is just going to make things worse, not better._

“What’s wrong?” she asked quietly.

“Both directions have a pull,” Tara answered. “Left is stronger, though.”

“Left,” Buffy instantly decided.

Thursday was scared and alone (or scared and with the kind of creepy assholes who would kidnap an infant, which she really, really didn’t want to think about right now. Or about how she’d rip out their intestines and tie them into pretty bows). Spike probably was, too, but most of his fear would be for Thursday. The best thing she could do for him was to show up with baby firmly in hand.

They turned to the left and after a couple of yards, there was no need for Tara’s spell to lead the way anymore. They were muffled, but there was no mistaking Thursday’s “the world is not the way I want it. Fix it. _Now!_ ” howls. Before Buffy could break into a sprint, Tara grabbed her shoulder.

“W-we have to act like we belong, remember?” she said, sounding nervous.

Right. Calm. Act like she belonged here in Evil Inc. She could do this. Buffy took a deep breath and slowly let it out. Right. Okay. There were a few people walking around, most of them dressed in lab coats. Science department or something, which was kind of a weird thing for a law firm to have. Maybe they did some of their own forensics or something? Didn’t really matter. What mattered was they were keeping her baby here, like she was some kind of science fair project and not an itty-bitty person. Bastards.

They continued on, no one really paying any attention to them. Then they got to the door where the crying was coming from and it took all Buffy’s willpower not to kick it down. Several more calming breaths, and then she opened the door.

“…ject seems to have enhance-” The scientist peering down into a clear box sort of thing broke off and frowned at them. “What do you think you’re doing? You can’t –”

Buffy grabbed the woman’s arm, whirled her around, and smashed her face into a control panel while Tara got out a camera and started taking pictures. _Don’t kill, don’t kill, don’t kill,_ she chanted in her mind, though, really, someone who would run experiments on a baby deserved it. _You’re the Slayer. Don’t let them make you a killer. Just rough her up, like Willy._

“Oh, god.”

Tara’s voice cut through Buffy’s thoughts and sent a chill down her spine. She turned to look into the clear box at Thursday. She was red-faced and her angry cries were hoarse, like she’d been at it for so long that her throat was sore. Electrodes were stuck all over her body, and….

White hot rage erupted through Buffy, filling her senses with heat and light. There was a crunch, and a pained, gurgling scream that was cut off by another crunch. She was vaguely aware of someone shouting her name, but that wasn’t important right now. These limbs weren’t going to break themselves or the wall paint itself with blood, after all.

Something pawed at her shoulder, and she turned and swatted at it, but her arm suddenly felt like it was moving through molasses. An abrupt, sharp sting across her face brought Buffy back to herself. Tara was standing in front of her, looking terrified but determined.

 _She slapped me,_ Buffy realized. _Why did she…?_ She glanced down, and immediately felt sick. Oh, god. The scientist was a crumpled heap on the floor, one leg bent the wrong way and her face a pulped mess of blood and drool. She was still breathing, though. Buffy hadn’t killed her. But she would have, if Tara hadn’t stopped her.

She backed away until she bumped into the clear box that held her still shrieking infant, and the horror suddenly went away as she remembered what had been done to Thursday. They’d cut her. They’d cut her baby girl. Neatly organized little slices along her arms and legs at different depths and stages of healing.

Buffy’s hands trembled as she reached down and lifted Thursday out of the box, the baby screaming in her ear before settling down to soft, hiccupping cries. Now that she was being held in familiar arms, she seemed too tired for anything louder, even when Buffy pulled the electrodes off.

“Shh, shh, I got you, sweetie, Mommy’s got you,” she murmured, her voice thick with unshed tears as she patted her daughter’s back. Her mind blanked on a lullaby, but her mouth and vocal cords remembered for her. “Sleep and rest, sleep and rest,” she sang softly. “Daddy will….”

Daddy…. Thursday was a Daddy’s girl. Buffy glanced around at all the machinery in the room, eyes narrowed. “We’re going to destroy all this,” she whispered, pressing gentle kisses across Thursday’s brow. “And then we’re going to go find Daddy, okay?”

 

**…**

 

Angel parked his car and stared up the street towards Caritas. He should have been at Wolfram & Hart, leading the rescue of Buffy’s child, but, as far as he knew, they still had ways to detect his presence if he was inside the building. His plan to get Spike and the baby out had required Willow’s magic to keep them from detecting him. Since there wasn’t an inside man to help out like the last time, no Willow meant no place in _any_ plan for Angel.

And so here he was, not far from Caritas while Darla gave birth to their impossible child. He was going to be a daddy. Possibly already was one. Utter terror at the thought overwhelmed him. How was he supposed to take care of a baby? He barely had his own life under any kind of control, and he was supposed to be responsible for the life and wellbeing of an infant?

Spike was apparently good at it. But then, Spike had always been good at taking care of others. Angel had to give him that, at least. It was the entire reason Drusilla had made him, to take care of her and be her playmate when Angel and Darla hadn’t felt like paying her any attention. And now that devotion and care was being showered over Thursday and Buffy.

Buffy…. Angel’s thoughts drifted to the talk they’d had before the rescue team had headed off to Wolfram & Hart.

_“There’s nothing between us,” she announced bluntly as he went through his tai chi moves in the basement, trying to focus on something other than the rescue mission he was being excluded from_ _. “I was a high school student with a stupid crush, and you’re obsessed over some perfect girl on a pedestal who doesn’t exist. As much as I’d rather be hitting you right now for forcing that kiss, I’m gonna give you some advice.”_

_He turned to look at her with a slight frown, words of protest on his lips. He wasn’t obsessed, and just because he saw the purity in her didn’t meant he put her on a pedestal. Before he could say any of that, though, she continued._

_“Go be with Darla. It doesn’t matter how you feel about her, you two are having a child together. You need to be there for the birth. If you miss it….” She’d stopped talking for a moment and there had been a hint of tears in her eyes. “Just… don’t miss it, okay? You’ll regret it.”_

Then she’d turned and gone back up the stairs, leaving Angel staring after her. He didn’t know what had happened or even how a male vampire was supposed to give birth anyway, but Buffy hadn’t been there for it, something she deeply regretted. She’d told him he needed to see the ultrasound and make it as private as he could. She’d been right about that. She was probably right about this, too.

Right. Okay. He could do this. Time to go be a daddy. He slowly got out of the car, closed and locked it behind him, and headed into Caritas.

 

**…**

 

He was feeling a sight less queasy now with the bloody stew out of the room, but Spike was still huddled in the corner, arms wrapped around himself as he rocked back and forth slightly. _Soon. Soon, soon, soon._ Buffy would come for him soon. He knew she would. Soon. Bit of an odd word, wasn’t it? Soooon. Soon. He’d said it so many times in his mind, sounded foreign now. Like some sort of magical incantation.

 _Buffy will be here soon._ Click his heels three times. Tra la la, and off they go back to bloody Kansas. Didn’t work as easy as all that in real life, though, did it? How the bloody hell was she meant to be breaking into this place, anyhow? Too bad his cell phone had been among the things they hadn’t given back to him. He could have called Willow, get her to have one of her coven jailers teleport him a cake with a file in it or somesuch. Get his own sodding self out of here.

But, no, he was stuck here with only himself to talk to. Unless he decided to go completely barmy and start talking to Dru’s pixies. Was a good option, wasn’t it? He’d save that one for later, though. Trot it out when things got a mite more boring-like. Maybe threaten to be all sack of hammers at them if they didn’t bring Thursday to him.

He’d already tried threatening a hunger strike, but they’d just ignored him and had left him some utterly brilliant fish and chips. Bastards. How was he supposed to go on a proper hunger strike when they went and brought the sort of thing Aliena had him drooling over? So he’d eaten that, but had been firm that he wasn’t going to touch the human blood. Except the blood had smelled sodding fantastic – young adult, female, O positive – and they’d probably nicked it from a blood drive, so no death, right? He’d drunk it down, of course, and his hunger strike was off to a smashing start, wasn’t it?

Of course, his self-control was good enough that he could have held off for a while, even with a growing sprog demanding fuel, but he’d known there wasn’t really much point to it. They’d have just force fed him and still kept Thursday away from him. Keeping his strength up for when Buffy came was his best bet. And she _would_ come. Soon.

He was repeating the word over and over again in his head when the door suddenly burst open and a badly beaten guard was thrown in. At first, he thought he was hallucinating, that none of it was real, especially not the woman standing in the doorway with their daughter in her arms. But then Tara gently nudged past her and started snapping photos, and that was an odd thing to be hallucinating just now.

It was real. They were real. Spike didn’t even bother trying to gather his scrambled thoughts. He was up on his feet and at the door within seconds, reaching out to take Thursday from her mum. His baby girl, real and warm and solid in his arms. Poor little bit, she was crying, but seemed to settle down some once he had her.

He closed his eyes and just breathed in her scent for a moment. Sunshine and wildflowers and milky sweetness with a bit of the earthy scent of a vampire and the bold spice of a Slayer. And blood. Over it all, overpowering everything, was the smell of her blood from the cuts all over her arms and legs.

“She’ll heal,” Buffy said quietly. “She won’t even scar, which is more than I can say for the person who did that to her.”

She gave him a tight, fierce smile, and he loved her even more than he ever had. She was a warrior and a protector who would fight with all she was for those she loved. He didn’t know what had happened between her and Angel, what the kiss he’d seen had been all about. Maybe she’d just wanted to make sure there was nothing there. Hell, maybe the bloody wanker had forced her into it. He didn’t know, and right now, it didn’t matter. He just knew that he loved her.

She frowned, pulling him out of his thoughts, and dug into her pocket for the backup amulet. She put it over his head, just as she had the night Aliena had been conceived. And that night was proof enough, wasn’t it? She loved him, too.

“Do you think we have enough pictures?” she asked, glancing at Tara.

“I think so,” the witch answered, putting away her camera and pulling several charm bracelets out of her purse. She held them out to Spike. “Put these on.”

While he juggled sprog and charms, Buffy got out her cell phone. “We’ve found them,” she said into it. “And we have pictures of everything, including what the bastards did to Thursday. They….” She had to pause to get a hold of herself. “She’s going to be okay, but they hurt her. Real cold, science experiment-y stuff.”

“Dear lord,” Spike could hear Giles say over the line. “Get her and Spike to safety, and I’ll handle the rest. By the time you get back to the hotel, Wolfram & Hart will no longer be a problem.”

There was something hard, cold, and deadly in his voice that sent shivers down Spike’s spine. There was steel in that stodgy old Englishman, and it seemed this law firm was going to be feeling it.

“Come on,” Buffy said, putting her phone away and twining her fingers with his free hand. “Let’s get out of here.”

And then they simply walked out of his prison, hand in hand with their child snuggled against his side and Tara right behind them.


	18. Chapter 18

“What do you mean he’s _gone_?” Lilah snapped into the phone, feeling like the world had dropped out from under her feet. She had just moments before gotten permission to use one of the vacation dimensions for her project, and now she was being told the damn vampire was missing? “The door to that room is reinforced and the rest of the building isn’t warm enough. He couldn’t have just up and walked out.”

“That’s, uh, sort of what happened,” the man on the other end of the line reported nervously. “There was some strange sort of disturbance down in the lobby, and according to the security cameras, the woman we were supposed to capture just walked right in and freed the vampire.”

Lilah closed her eyes for a moment and took a deep breath. The higher ups knew about her plan, but it wasn’t like she was the only one to screw things up. Linwood and Gavin had failed spectacularly at getting a hold of Darla and her baby and had cost them a good commando team and a highly respected demon obstetrician. They’d take the brunt of the punishment, especially if she could figure out a way to turn this around.

“What about the baby?” she asked, knowing it was a longshot. She may not have been the motherly sort herself, but she doubted the Slayer would have rescued the vampire carrying her child while ignoring the one that had already been born.

“Also gone. The researcher in charge of it is in critical condition in the medical wing and all of the equipment and test results have been destroyed.”

Damn it. “They can’t have gotten far. I want –”

The door to her office suddenly burst open and two men walked in. One was a tweedy, mild-mannered looking guy in glasses, but the other one had that smooth, shark-in-a-suit feel of another lawyer. She didn’t recognize him, which meant he was from some other Wolfram & Hart location or a completely different firm.

“Hey, I told you she wasn’t available to see you now!” her secretary shouted, slipping into the room and trying to herd them back out.

“Oh, I imagine Ms. Morgan would very much rather see us now than later,” the tweedy man said. “Though if you insist, we can wait until _after_ we’ve leaked photographic evidence of the kidnapping and unlawful confinement of William and Thursday Summers and the torture of an infant.”

A chill went down Lilah’s spine at his words. The mild-mannered seeming had fallen away like an unneeded mask, revealing someone cold and hard. She had no trouble believing this man could and would release the pictures he said he had. And if those got out…. They’d been testing the baby’s ability to heal, and it would look like prolonged, systematic torture. They could be declared fakes and buried, but the L.A. branch of Wolfram & Hart would still take a massive PR hit.

“It’s all right, Carol,” Lilah said, her gaze locked on the man. “Who are you and what do you want?”

“Rupert Giles, the honorary grandfather of one Thursday Anne Summers. As for what I want….” He inclined his head towards the other man, who stepped forward to place his briefcase down on Lilah’s desk. “I decided the best course of action was to fight fire with fire. This is Brandon McNally, one the lawyers the Watcher’s Council uses here in America. He’s drawn up a contract for you to sign, ensuring that neither you nor your organization will ever again go after Miss Summers or any of her family.”

Lilah watched, feeling numb as McNally withdrew a contract from his briefcase. The Watcher’s Council may have kept itself mostly to England, but they had their fingers in almost as many pies as Wolfram & Hart. Hell, there were even some possibly not-so-ex Watchers working in this very building. Was that how they’d known that she was in charge of this particular project? And that as the one who had instigated it, she had the authority to shut it down permanently. Which she would need to do, since the Watcher’s Council had the clout to keep the story of baby torture going.

She looked over the contract. It was a fairly standard one, saying that all attempts to capture or use Buffy, William, or Thursday Summers or any of their family would cease and that no new ones would be initiated. It also asked for full disclosure on what her plan had been.

“You’ll need to sign in blood,” McNally reminded her as she reached for a normal pen.

“Of course.”

She pulled the correct pen out of her desk drawer and signed her name at all the appropriate points, her mind whirling as she tried to figure out how she was going to last the week with her head still firmly attached.

 

**…**

 

The midwife had told her she should be resting despite her fast healing, but Darla had never really been one to follow orders unless they’d come from her sire. Her first one, that was. Damned if she was ever going to be Dru’s mindless little puppy like Spike.

 _Spike…._ Her thoughts drifted to her great-grandson/brother as she got up out of Lorne’s bed. Had he felt that same loss and strange sort of emptiness after his child had been born? Not just the sudden lack of the baby, but the soul being gone as well? Had he held his newborn and felt something strange and tender, along with the desire to rip out the tiny little throat?

She didn’t know, and ultimately she didn’t care. She made her way to the door and opened it just enough to peer out into the club. There was Angel. The hand she’d crushed during labor was wrapped up, but didn’t seem to be interfering with him holding their son. She’d wondered if he’d lose his soul over this, but while he’d looked overjoyed and amazed at the birth, he’d also looked terrified. That terror was still there, along with love and affection as he gazed down at the baby.

For a moment, she wondered if maybe they could make it work. The pig blood was vile, but she could always live on donated human from wherever Spike was getting his. They could all live happily ever after as a family…. Until the baby cried one too many times and she bashed his needy little skull in for it.

She had no trouble believing Spike could pull off being a good mommy as a vampire – the whole caregiver thing being a holdover from his human life that Dru had made damn sure survived his turning – but it just wasn’t in her. She hadn’t been mother material as a human, and she wasn’t now, even if there seemed to be part of her that still felt vaguely affectionate towards her baby.

The best thing she could do for the kid was to leave him right where he was. Not that Angel was the best idea for a father, but his team had good people. Cordelia had looked after her despite hating her, after all.

Darla carefully closed the door, then reached for the jacket Angel had left in the room. As she’d thought, his car keys were still in the pocket. With a smile of satisfaction, she fished them out and moved the bed as quietly as she could, revealing the secret (though not so much to the rats or people who could hear them scurrying around) tunnel. She’d be back someday, she had no doubt, but for now, it was time to hit the road.

 

**…**

 

Buffy closed her phone and stared at it, feeling sick. If they’d been even a few minutes slower, Spike would have been shunted off into another dimension. There was a chance they still could have rescued him, but he probably would have spent the entire pregnancy alone in enemy hands, being poked and prodded and treated like some kind of lab rat. And if they’d managed to capture her....

According to Giles, the plan had been to stick Spike in that other dimension over and over again, only pulling him out to force the two of them to go through the So’voriku ritual. They would have used the two of them to make an army of slaypires, the girls raised by others to be mindless tools.

She shuddered and put her phone away before turning towards Spike. They were back at the hotel, Spike sitting on the bed with Thursday asleep on his lap while he finished off the tea Buffy had made for him. Thursday’s playpen was set up with its comfy sleeping pad, but Spike wasn’t ready to put her in it yet.

“Seems almost too easy, don’t it?” he said quietly. “Way our lives work, the rescue should have been a lot more last minute.”

“Hey, maybe the universe just realized we deserved a break,” she said as she sat down beside him. She wrapped her arm around him, and he leaned into it. “I have you and Thursday back, and I kind of just wanna bask in that without thinking about it too much.”

“Works for m-” He froze suddenly, head tilted, then frowned. “You hear that? Sounds like Angel bellowing down in the lobby and a sprog crying.”

Buffy sighed. She wanted to just ignore Angel and the crying that was probably his kid, but he was probably going to need some pointers or something on how to actually take care of said kid. As pissed off as she was at Angel right now, his little boy didn’t deserve to suffer for it.

“Come on, we should go see what’s going on down there,” she said, reluctantly getting up.

Spike gathered up Thursday, gently shushing her when she let out an exhausted little cry. Buffy bit her lip. The best thing was to put the baby down into her playpen to sleep, but she knew it was going to be hard for Spike be away from her right now. Maybe seeing that she’d be okay if they left the room would help him, though?

“We’re all safe here,” she said softly, reaching for the Thursday. God, the look in Spike’s eyes, like he couldn’t trust anyone with their daughter, not even her. “Just trust me, okay? It’s just us and Angel’s team.” She frowned. “And that Holtz guy I told you about, but he isn’t a threat. He stopped his attack on Angel so he’d be able to help us rescue you and Thursday.”

Of course, Angel had turned out to not play any part in said rescue, but still, a fight would have been a distraction that no one needed. She still felt bad for the guy. Maybe there was something they could do for him. It would have to wait though. Right now, she needed to take care of Spike and help him deal with his fear for Thursday.

He just stared at her for a moment, then took a slow, deep breath and let her have the baby. Thank God. Buffy hugged her little girl before carefully putting her down to sleep. Then she took Spike’s hand and led him out of the room.

 

**…**

 

Holtz waited in one of the rooms with the door partially open so he could hear when the slayer and the vampire left their room. A quick look out showed that neither was holding the abomination as they went down the stairs. He gave them a few minutes to get down to lobby before sneaking into their room.

And there she was. An infant sleeping innocently. As innocent as his own baby, murdered in his crib by Angelus and Darla. As innocent as his poor little Sarah. He gently reached down and cradled her in his arms. He should end her now. Smother her or snap her delicate little neck, but as he looked at her, the song he’d once sung to his little girl spilled from his lips.

“Sleep, my child, and peace attend thee,” he sang softly, “all through the night.”

Tears misted his sight as he remembered his dear child, sitting and playing as if she hadn’t a care in the world. As if she hadn’t been murdered and her body taken over by a demon. This poor babe had been born with the demon inside, though no fault of her own, and her mother no doubt loved her.

“Guardian angels God will send thee.” His voice wavered slightly as he cuddled the quietly fusing baby in his arms. “All through the night.”

The smart thing would be to kill her now, but he couldn’t do it. Not yet. He’d take her downstairs so her mother could see her one last time. And then….

Then he would put an end to the abomination.


	19. Chapter 19

The baby felt strangely right and perfect in Angel’s arms, but he wouldn’t stop crying. He’d only been a father for a couple of hours, and he was already doing things wrong. He couldn’t even manage his own life all that well. How the hell was he supposed to take of this little miracle without ruining him somehow? Angel stared down at the wrinkled red face, feeling lost and helpless.

His team was crowded around him, trying to help. Wes was saying something about having bought diapers and formula while Gunn talked about a cousin he’d helped raise from infancy. The words all seemed to float around him, circling without actually sinking in, even though he knew they were important. Those words would help him take care of his son, help him to stop the crying.

“Hand him over,” Cordelia’s voice cut through everything as she planted herself in front of him. “This calls for a woman’s touch.”

“Wow, sexist much?”

Angel looked towards the stairs just as Buffy and Spike came down them. Her expression was as annoyed and exasperated as her tone had been. “Did you _not_ just hear Gunn talking about taking care of his baby cousin?” she continued. “And Spike does a damn good job with Thursday. Way better than me on some days.”

“Sprog probably needs a change and a feed,” Spike said. “Need to get to it soon, before he falls asleep. Newborns tucker out right quick, and you need to get grub into ‘em whenever you can.”

Angel wanted to ignore the younger vampire on general principle, but what he was saying made sense. Babies cried when they were hungry and a quick sniff revealed that his son had wet himself. Which meant the pricey jacket Angel had bundled him up in was ruined. Huh. He found he didn’t really care much about that. It was just a jacket, after all. His son was…. He was just perfect.

He felt a strange sort of tearing pressure as he stared down at the baby, but it was washed away by the sudden return of his fear. He was going to mess it all up. He didn’t like to admit it, but he knew the truth about himself. He tended to destroy everything he touched. Even Buffy. He glanced up at her as she pushed through the others to stand beside him. He’d ruined her for the normal she so desperately needed, to the point where she was shackling herself to Spike.

“You’re holding him too tightly,” she said, grabbing the baby away from him. The cries got even louder. “Right, heartbeat. Uber scary for vamp baby.”

Before Angel could take him back, Buffy handed him over to Spike. And… the baby quieted. He was still upset and fussing, but he seemed to feel safe, cradled gently and securely against Spike’s chest. Angel wanted to protest and deny it was possible, but it made sense. Spike was an evil monster, but he’d always been good at taking care of others. And he _was_ good with his own child.

“Hush now, that’s a good lad,” Spike murmured. “Calm down for Uncle Spike.” He frowned thoughtfully at that. “Though I s’pose you’re technically the uncle, seeing as how your dad is my grandsire and all. And your mum was the great grandhag before Dru went and made her my li’l sis.” He looked over at Angel. “What’s his name?”

Name? Angel stared blankly for a moment. “I… We didn’t actually…. And then Darla took off. She stole my car, so I had to use yours to get back here with him.” Which was what had happened, but had nothing to do with a name for the baby. A possibility, one that had been swimming around in the back of his mind all along, floated to the surface. “Connor. His name is Connor.”

“Here are the diapers,” Fred said suddenly, returning from wherever she’d gone. Angel hadn’t even noticed until now that she’d left. Or that Wesley had as well and wasn’t back yet. “Wesley is fixing up a bottle.”

Instead of giving Connor back, Spike passed him over to Gunn, who seemed to have a similar baby-holding style. Connor’s fussing got louder at the transfer, probably because of the heartbeat thing Buffy had mentioned.

“You’ve people about what know how this all works,” Spike said. “Let them help. God knows we’d have been lost without Tara.” He glanced towards the blonde witch, who had been quietly waiting off in the corner for things to die down. “She –”

He stopped abruptly, eyes wide with panic as he stared towards the stairs. Holtz was there, a strange expression on his face and Thursday in his arms.

 

**…**

 

Leaving Thursday behind and leading Spike down into the lobby had been one of the hardest things Buffy had ever done. Okay, maybe not “facing her prophesied death at the hands of the Master” hard, or “stabbing a man she had loved in the heart before sending him to hell” hard, but pretty up there. She’d sent the two of them away to safety before she could even explain about the kiss, only for them to end up in the clutches of the very danger she’d been trying to save them from. Now she had them back, and she hated the thought of doing anything other than just cuddling with her family.

But she’d thought that Spike needed proof that Thursday would be safe if they left her alone for a few minutes. She’d needed that proof, too. And now… now an unhinged man from two-hundred years in the past was holding their baby.

“Such a sweet little child,” he murmured as he came the rest of the way down the stairs. “Children should be protected and cherished. But it isn’t always possible, is it?”

Buffy’s muscles tensed, the ritual induced protective instinct combined with her own natural need to protect, pushing for her to lunge at the man and take her daughter from him. She felt sick and enraged, both at Holtz and herself. She’d left her baby girl alone, knowing he was probably still in the hotel somewhere. She’d thought he was harmless. She’d thought it was _safe_.

“I heard, you know,” Holtz continued. “The sun would burn her and human blood restore her. An abomination,” he shifted Thursday to one arm, using the other to pull a stake somewhere from his clothes, “that must be destroyed.”

Buffy’s vision was suddenly washed in a haze of red, the ability to think completely overwhelmed by sheer fury and terror. Everything slowed to a crawl as she ran forward, the stake inching towards Thursday’s chest. She’d rip his arm off, then his head. Catch the baby before she could hit the ground while Holtz’s blood painted them both in a shower of gore.

There was a bone-chilling howl of absolute rage that didn’t sound entirely sane. And it hadn’t come from her. She was shoved aside as Spike surged past her. He grabbed Holtz by the face with a sickening crunch, lifting the man up in the air one handed as he took Thursday away from him. Then he twisted until Holtz’s neck was at an unnatural angle and dropped him to the floor.

 

**…**

 

Thursday gave an angry little cry at being jostled about, but then settled against Spike’s chest and fell instantly asleep. She was safe and alive, and the man who had tried to kill her – Holtz he supposed – wasn’t. Spike stared down at the body with its crushed face and broken neck, barely aware of the chaos that had erupted behind him.

It was the first human he’d killed since getting his soul. Shouldn’t there have been guilt, even if he’d killed the man to save Thursday? He just felt… numb. Tara shouted something in another language, using her magic on Angel or one of his team most likely. He should probably care about that. Do something to assure them that, yeah, no chip and he’d just killed someone, but he wasn’t actually a threat. He couldn’t seem to stop staring down at the body.

Daniel Holtz. He’d never met him before, of course, but in a way, he’d felt like family. Like some distant uncle what had gone off to war and never come home again. Angelus had enjoyed telling stories of all he and Darla had done. How they’d emotionally and mentally tortured the man, destroying his family and turning him into naught but a shadow of himself living only for revenge. And now he was dead.

Dead while Thursday was alive, all because he’d given them time by declaring what he was going to do. Spike found himself vaguely wondering if Holtz had been compelled to do it by some small part of him that was still the good man Angelus and Darla had first encountered, and he’d _wanted_ to be stopped. Or maybe he was just bloody theatrical about things.

“Oh god,” Buffy breathed, her hand settling on his shoulder. He flinched away from her, but she reached out again, firmly taking hold of his arm. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Is she okay? Are… are you okay?”

“Is _he_ okay?” Angel’s voice was incredulous. Spike turned just enough to see behind him. Angel was there, frozen by Tara’s spell in mid-run towards him, game face on. His team was arrayed protectively in front of Charlie and Connor, staring at Spike with distrust. “He just killed someone, and you’re asking if _he’s_ okay? He’s been lying to you this entire time about the chip.”

Spike closed his eyes to block out the accusing looks for a moment. It hurt. He knew he deserved that and worse after all he’d done, but it hurt. When they’d thought he couldn’t harm them, they’d been open and even friendly. And now…. He took a deep breath and opened his eyes, looking directly into Buffy’s. Worry, guilt, sympathy. And deepest of all, there was love.

“Tell them whatever you need to,” he said. “I need….” He shook his head and took another deep breath. “I’ll be outside.”

Getting his soul had been a personal, private thing. That particular cat had to come out the bag now, but he didn’t want to be there for it. Didn’t want to see Angel’s face as he came up with ways to dismiss and demean it.

Cuddling Thursday as close as he could without hurting her, Spike swept out of the hotel and into the night.


	20. Chapter 20

Buffy wanted to follow Spike as he walked out of the hotel with their daughter, but she didn’t. Because she knew him. All the times they’d fought – as enemies, allies, and then partners – the way they’d slowly grown close to each other during the pregnancy with Thursday, going through therapy both separately and together. There were still mysteries and hidden depths left to uncover, and probably always would be, but she knew Spike deep below the surface. And she knew that while he didn’t like to be alone, he needed some time to himself right now to work through what had just happened.

He’d done the only thing he really could have. It was pretty much what she would have, if he hadn’t gotten there first. Had that been part of it, trying to save their baby girl while also keeping Buffy from having to kill a human? She wished he hadn’t. She’d been the one to mess up and leave Thursday where Holtz could get her. She deserved the weight of his death – justified as it was – on her soul, not Spike. Especially not now, when his hormones were all wonky and his emotions kind of unstable because of it.

God, they’d be unstable even _without_ being all mood-swingy. He’d had to save Thursday from being killed _twice_ during this horrible visit, and the two of them had been kidnapped. She was going to lock both baby and vampire into a bathtub full of bubble wrap and packing peanuts when they got home, and she doubted Spike would even complain about it. Nor for the first day or two anyway.

For right now, though, she had to deal with the aftermath and make sure no one was going to chase Spike down and try to stake him. Which actually didn’t seem all that likely now that she turned her attention to the others. Angel was still clearly pissed off and held in place by Tara’s spell, but the rest of his group was kind of a mixed bag.

Wesley had come back with a bottle for Connor at some point and seemed pretty clueless. Fred and Gunn were giving off vibes of confused and betrayed, and Cordelia…. Okay, she was just as angry as Angel, but she was glaring at Buffy, not trying to go after Spike or anything.

“Wait, so, you _lied_ to us about the chip?” she demanded.

Buffy blinked at that. Huh. Was that the real problem here? Being upset about the lie? Well, it definitely fit with Cordelia. She never had liked being lied to.

“Spike tricked her,” Angel insisted, finally shaking off his vamp face. “I don’t know why, though probably to get back at me for Drusilla, but he’s been doing some kind of long con –”

“Shut up, Angel,” Buffy snapped, glaring at him. “There _was_ a chip. It’s gone now, but we wanted to be able to focus on the important stuff, so yeah, we lied to you. Spike is safe, and only killed Holtz because he was a threat.”

“Well, obviously,” Fred said. “That part’s not really in question.”

“Yes, it is! He isn’t safe, and he killed someone,” Angel protested.

“I’d have gutted Holtz if I’d been close enough,” Fred said. Then she cocked her head and calmly added, “If I’d had a knife on me. I should probably keep more weapons on me, considering what we come across.”

“That’s a very good idea, actually,” Wesley said as he finally handed the bottle to Gunn so Connor could be fed. “When we’ve time, we can look through the cache for some personal weapons for you.” He smiled fondly at Fred and casually slid his arm across her shoulders. “For now, though, would someone please explain what’s happened?”

 

**…**

 

Spike didn’t go far, just went out to the DeSoto and retrieved the spare key duct-taped under the front bumper. Once he was inside, he pressed his back against the door and settled Thursday comfortably against his chest. He slid his hand under her shirt to rub her back, knowing skin-to-skin contact would be soothing for her. For both of them, really.

She babbled something and drooled on him a little, but didn’t wake up. Poor little thing. She’d been through so much, and he’d almost lost her. Again. God, he was bloody awful at this fatherhood thing, wasn’t he? He hadn’t been paying enough attention, and Darla had gotten Thursday near the start of it all. He’d been daft enough to trust Darla to keep her safe after that, and of course she’d been captured and tortured. And then he’d just gone and left her, allowing Holtz to try to kill her, too.

He shuddered and closed his eyes as he breathed in her scent. Both Darla and Holtz had hesitated. That was the only reason she was still alive. The former was running about free somewhere and the latter…. Dead by Spike’s own hand.

He swallowed hard and stared at the hand that wasn’t holding Thursday securely against him. Then he sniffed and swiped angrily at the moisture gathering at the corners of his eyes. Why the bloody hell was he crying? He still didn’t feel guilty about it. And why should he? Saved his girl, hadn’t he? There was… regret that it had come to that, but the actual killing? It had been defense, not murder. Not the same as all the other poor sods he’d slaughtered over the decades. Not….

Spike blinked, his train of thought derailed as he suddenly realized he was shaking. God, all that had happened in the past few days…. He curled around his girl in the front seat of his car and finally let himself react to it all.

 

**…**

 

“So, the chip really was real?” Fred asked, a disturbing gleam in her eyes.

It worried Angel a little, though he approved of her interest. Maybe she could figure out a way to make something that would work the same and keep Spike properly leashed. Buffy had claimed a promise made nearly a year ago was keeping him from eating people, but Angel couldn’t trust that. Even though, now that he’d had a little bit to think about it, he had to agree that the younger vampire hadn’t actually done anything wrong. This time, anyway.

That agreement was why he was free from the spell now and holding his child. Connor was a warm, solid little weight in his arms, sleeping peacefully. How long would that peace last? Angel had a lot of enemies, including Spike. And once the baby Spike was carrying had been born, there would be no soul to hold the evil in check. Nothing to keep him from coming after Connor as a way to hurt Angel.

“Um, yeah,” Buffy said in response to Fred, eyeing her warily. “But we had it removed, and he doesn’t need another one.”

“The hell he doesn’t!” Angel snapped. “You can’t trust a promise he made while being influenced by Thursday’s soul. The only reason he’s even keeping it now is because of the new baby’s”

Buffy just gave him an odd little half-smile that almost looked triumphant and quietly said, “Now, see, we actually learned something kind of interesting about that. Baby souls apparently grow along with the baby. Last Thanksgiving, when Spike made his promise to me, Thursday’s wasn’t big enough to influence him at all. And he was a few weeks farther along than he is now.”

Angel stared at her blankly for a moment, trying to process what she’d just said. The new baby’s soul wasn’t...? But that…. Once he’d actually tried, he’d been able to sense souls in both Darla and Spike. With Darla, it had obviously been Connor’s. If what he’d sensed in Spike hadn’t been from the baby, then….

“Willow cursed him,” he realized.

He wasn’t sure how he felt about that. He should have been glad, since it meant there was another vampire out there who could be trusted to fight the good fight. But, well, he’d tried to be evil for the first couple of years with his, and he hadn’t really given a damn about actively going out and doing good until Buffy. And if he was honest with himself, he was kind of feeling jealous. _He_ was the vampire with a soul, damn it.

And how the hell was he even keeping the soul, anyway? Angel himself had had to experience a deep connection with the woman he loved in order to lose his soul. A new happy meal toy should have been enough to send Spike’s back to the hell set aside for vampire souls, and being with Buffy was so much more than that. Had they figured out a way to get rid of the happiness clause?

The thought of that hit him like a ton of bricks. No more happiness clause. If he could have that freedom….

“No, Willow didn’t curse him,” Buffy said, her words cutting through Angel’s conflicted thoughts. She spat the witch’s name like it was something bitter on her tongue. “He chose to go and fight for his soul. It nearly killed him, but he thought it was worth it, and that was _after_ Thursday had been born.” Her eyes were bright with pride. “He hadn’t done anything wrong. There was no triggering event or anything. He wanted to be able to relate to Thursday and for that part of him to know us, so we could all eventually be together in whatever comes after this life. And he wanted it for himself, to have that feeling of a soul again.”

Numbness and confusion and a sick tangle of hatred and jealousy shivered through Angel in waves. He could hear the others talking, asking questions to find out if Angel could do the same. He already had his soul, it wasn’t something he could fight to win, and if he didn’t have it…. He stared down at the sleeping newborn in his arms. Spike had gotten a soul to relate better to his child. Angel needed a soul just so he wouldn’t murder his. A soul that Angelus… that _he_ had once killed someone to keep from getting back.

“The chip still worked even with the soul?” Fred’s unexpected question cut through everything else, catching Angel’s attention.

“Fred,” Wesley said in a cautious tone of voice just as Buffy exploded.

“What the hell is wrong with you people? Spike _chose_ to go get a soul! Just the fact that he was able to make that decision is proof that he doesn’t need anything forcing him to be good!”

“Oh, no, of course not,” Fred hurriedly said. “Spike’s a real sweetie. Which you know, since you live with him and everything and….” She trailed off a little awkwardly and shrugged. “But if I tweak things a little, a chip like that would be perfect for Angel. It could shock him anytime he gets too happy.”

“What?” Angel stared at her in disbelief. She wanted to put in a chip in _him_?

“You can do that?” Cordelia asked, sounding far too excited about the idea for his comfort.

“Probably, though it may take a while. The shocking part should be easy enough, but setting up something that small to detect changes in mood could be a problem. It’d have to be really precise, so it wouldn’t shock him for any happiness.”

“I… I could help with that. M-maybe,” Tara said, finally joining in the conversation. “There’s… um, there’s some magic that can basically turn something into a mood ring. I’m….” She stopped and nervously pushed her hair back behind her ears. “I’m good with that, since I can naturally see auras. But Angel would have to agree, or it wouldn’t be ethical.”

“Well, of course he’s going to agree,” Cordelia insisted. He started to protest, but she cut him off with a glare. “What? Do you _want_ to go all evil psychopath on us the first time the baby says ‘dada’?”

“Well, no, but….”

There was a moment of silence as everyone just stared at him. Did they seriously expect him to just agree to having some kind of pain chip implanted? Yes, he realized, they did. And they had a right to. Cordelia and Buffy had experienced the horror of Angelus first hand, and Wesley had gotten a glimpse when Angel had been drugged into happiness. The others had heard enough to at least have an idea of how bad it could get.

He swallowed and looked down at his son again. He _would_ say “dada” at some point, and it was going to be amazing. There were so many milestones to look forward to. Connor’s first laugh, his first steps. His first hockey field goal…. Any one of those things could unleash the evil inside of Angel, and that evil would destroy his son. Unless they chipped him up to make him safe.

Before he could say anything about the idea, Buffy turned towards the stairs. “Where are you going?”

“To get a couple of things before finding Spike,” she answered with a brief look over her shoulder at him. “This is all between you and your friends. It doesn’t really have anything to do with me. Though I’m telling you this, now. You lose your soul, you’ll have to be dusted. Willow won’t be cursing you again.” She went up the stairs without another word or a backwards glance.

 _It doesn’t really have anything to do with me._ Her words echoed in his mind as he watched her go. The idea had been circling for the past few days, come close before he would resolutely chase it away. But he couldn’t do that anymore. Not with her words and tone of voice. He finally had to admit it. Buffy wasn’t the same young girl he’d fallen in love with. She had grown up, and in doing so, had outgrown him and moved on with her life.

Maybe it was time for him to do the same.

 

**…**

 

The shaking and the sodding tears had finally died down by the time someone opened the passenger side door. Buffy, with her purse and a few of Thursday’s things from the hotel. She didn’t say a word at first, just put it all into the back before sitting down and leaning against him. They sat together in silence for a long moment, Buffy reaching out to gently stroke Thursday’s sleeping face.

“I’m sorry,” she finally whispered. “I’m sorry I put you through that. I –”

“Not your fault, love,” Spike interrupted, his voice as quiet as hers. “You’d no way of knowing what was going to happen.”

He shifted so he could wrap his arm around her, and she settled against him with a soft sigh. He felt wrung out and sort of hollow, but also peaceful. Despite all that had happened, it was actually a lovely November night, and Buffy and Thursday were there with him. They’d go home, and in a few days, it’d be Thanksgiving. Thursday would have her first taste of pumpkin pie, and he’d snag an extra piece again this year, claiming it was for Aliena, and…. Bloody hell, he was sniffling again.

Buffy hugged him. “It’s going to be okay,” she murmured. “She’s okay. We’re okay. Everything’s okay.”

 _We’re okay._ Were they okay? He’d been trying to put it out of his mind, to dismiss it as not important, but he couldn’t help thinking of the kiss he’d seen.

“You and Angel….”

She interrupted him by pulling the talking stick out of her pocket, which was hardly fair, seeing as how she’d been hogging it this trip. She stared at in silence as she gathered her thoughts, then finally spoke.

“There’s nothing there. I think whatever was died a long time ago, when I stabbed him with a sword and sent him to hell to stop Acathla. Maybe even before that.” She went quiet again for a moment. “I ended things with him, you know. After you showed up in Sunnydale all drunk and depressed over Dru. We got back together when he threatened suicide, but it was never really the same. I wanted it to be, and I clung to it and tried to pretend, but… it just wasn’t.”

She shrugged and snuggled in closer. There was a faint twinge of sadness in her voice, but no pain. The memories weren’t exactly happy, but they didn’t seem to hurt her now. Despite that lack, Spike wanted to say something, to reassure her that Angel had always been a bit of a selfish wanker, even at his best, but she still had the talking stick, so he kept his gob shut.

“I thought for a long time that the problem was me,” she continued. “That there was something wrong inside of me that had ruined everything. But I finally figured it out, after being with you. The problem _was_ me, but it’s that I wasn’t a naive kid anymore. And that’s a good thing, not something wrong. Coming here, it drove it all home, so I’m glad for that at least. Though I wish you’d gotten to see me beat Angel up after he forced that kiss on me.”

Spike blinked at that and had to bite his tongue to keep quiet. She’d beaten Angel after the kiss? He wished he could have seen it, too. Knowing about it, though, it quieted some of the insecurities roiling around inside of him.

“And, I guess, that’s really what I wanted to say,” she said, handing him the stick.

He could say whatever he wanted now, and she couldn’t interrupt. Or wasn’t supposed to, anyway. They both tried to follow the talking stick rules, but, well, following rules in general wasn’t exactly a strong suit for either of them. He could say all sorts of things about Angel that were bloody well true, but would hurt her because she’d loved him once, and she’d heap blame and recriminations on the girl she’d been, blinded by the rose-colored glasses of youth and infatuation.

But, really, there was only one thing he wanted to say. One thing that really encapsulated all he was feeling right now. “I love you,” he said, setting the talking stick aside. “I want to go home.”

“Yeah. Me, too.”

And as simple as that, they really were okay. They got everything sorted and Thursday situated into her car seat. They gave Tara’s cell phone a quick ring. She was apparently going to be staying for a couple of weeks to help with some kind of chip for Angel – and Spike couldn’t help feeling a bit smug about that – but would pack up anything they’d left behind for Giles to bring back.

And then they drove away, leaving Angel and his problems behind as they headed home, where they belonged.


End file.
